The Villa
by Lennarift
Summary: "Where'd you hide the pirate?" Emma asked him, looking over his New York incarnation from Chucks to cell phone. Just days ago it had been swords and leather and a long journey on horseback. Now he was hailing a taxi. "Still here, love. Why, do you need someone killed?" Killian and Emma travel across space and time to defend their love. A super-comprehensive divergence from 4x12.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: I do not own any OUAT characters._**

Emma scanned her eyes across the meadow that stretched away from the balcony before drifting into the woods. She had been watching some hawks stalking and swooping for rabbits in the tall grass, and their predatory search reminded her how hungry she had become. She lay on her stomach, her head resting on her arms, to watch as silently as she could. Her feet were wrapped up in Killian's legs, a sheet threaded through them at odd angles, as he leaned back on his arms and gazed out in the opposite direction.

She had been enjoying the wildlife, the birdsong and deer, blissfully peaceful, but the hunger pangs made her fingers itch for a bow and arrow.

"This is just paradise," Emma smiled over her shoulder at him, not admitting that she had considered shooting something in the paradise for dinner.

He smiled back at her, looking over her naked body wherever it emerged from the sheets. "I could stare out these windows for ages," he agreed, his gaze focussed securely on her. "I hope whoever owns this place isn't coming back anytime soon."

There had been no lock on the doors or windows, no need to mess about with wires and tumblers to break in. Just a large bedroom, with little more than the ornate four poster bed they were lying in now, and an adjoining bathroom, nearly the same size as the bedroom. And walls of windows, every side overlooking the surrounding, exquisite meadow. They had helped themselves.

Killian and Emma had been trekking through the Enchanted Forest for three weeks before finding this place, unattended and inviting. The chance to sleep in a bed, rather than on the bedrolls they had stolen, seemed too good to pass by. A thief and a pirate adrift in the woods had done just as well, materially, as they had the last time they tumbled through a portal. They had no trouble knicking what they needed off washing lines and out of pockets.

But as the hike dragged on with no way back to Storybrooke in sight, Emma had begun thinking of Killian laying her back in a soft bed, sliding his fingers down her body, rubbing his stubbly chin along the insides of her thighs. She had been wandering through the woods with her thoughts in the gutter, and then she had tripped over a tree root and fallen gracelessly into the dirt. By the time she pulled herself to her feet, cursing herself for not paying attention to her footing, Killian was around the next bend in the forest track. He called out that he had spotted a dwelling ahead.

They had arrived at the villa within 10 minutes. It had a pump for fresh water but few other amenities, pleasant but minimalist. The pump was enough to entice Emma inside. The forest smelled sweet, overwhelmingly of pine, but the thrill of bathing in icy cold rivers was wearing off and she longed to smell of soap rather than sediment. A bath, a bed… heaven.

Killian had immediately tackled her to the bed, scratching her with the length of rope he had draped over his shoulder. He unlaced her stolen clothing until he could slide the whole ensemble down over her breasts and hips. She heard it slip to the floor with a heavy sigh.

He tugged the rope off his shoulder and stood for a moment looking between it and Emma's naked body. He raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested he had stumbled upon an idea he particularly liked. He picked her up, moved her to the head of the bed and stretched her arms over her head, kissing up her neck to her lips as he did so. With his eyes fixed on hers, he leaned over and secured the rope around her left wrist and tied it to the bedpost. Then did the same with the right.

"Those aren't silk scarves, love. Don't struggle; they'll leave marks," he warned her with a lustful voice, not really asking for permission, or maybe assuming none was required.

Emma felt a smile bubble up onto her features at wicked grin he shot her way. The ropes slightly unsettled her. He unsettled her. All sweetness and handholding, and then ropes and implied consent. It was straight-up PG until it was porn, all in a moment. So far, all he did had walked the correct side of the line, but his behaviour kept her guessing, kept her realising how little she knew about him other than what he allowed her to know.

Still… here he was kissing a trail down her body, and here she was holding onto the bedposts for dear life, trying to keep the ropes from biting into her wrists as he dropped his tongue between her legs. She felt herself dripping for his touch, felt him slide two fingers inside her, curling them against just the right spot as his tongue held pressure against the throb in her clit. He had her screaming his name over and over, birds outside the floor-to-ceiling windows taking flight at the sounds she made for him. It felt far beyond good; everything he did to her felt incredible. She found some level trust in that simple success.

* * *

This latest fall through a portal had brought Killian and Emma together at last, carrying over the first stirrings of trust and belief that Emma had felt in Storybrooke. With the ice queen defeated, a sliver of normality seemed to be seeping into Storybrooke life, a quiet moment as Killian called it. He had met her by her car, bought her a coffee, and slipped his arm around her waist as they walked down the street together, all utterly normal. Killian had been looking at her, the quiet Main Street bewitching him into complacency, and as he took her hand to step into the street towards the library, the ground disappeared beneath him. The portal had sucked them both in before they had time to register its presence.

Killian had picked himself up from the leaves and pine needles, swearing.

"Not this place. Not again," he had shut his eyes and rubbed his fingers over his temples.

"For someone from the Enchanted Forest, you seem hugely disappointed every time we wind up back here," Emma had answered, reaching out for his hand to pull her up. "Besides, you went into that portal first, so you must have been thinking about this place on some level."

"I was thinking, 'Not the Enchanted Forest again.' Which I suppose is thinking about the Enchanted Forest." He glared off the side to avoid looking at her, training his anger on the middle distance.

"Next time think of a beach resort in Mexico," Emma had grinned at him.

No mere portal jump was going to devastate Emma this time around. She felt optimistic. They had already been back and forth between realms a few times now, and she had every faith they would find a way back. "C'mon, Captain," she put her arms around his waist to cheer him up. "We can fix this."

"We don't know who opened that portal, or why," he responded, not shaking off her embrace but not returning it. "Either they sent us here to get us out of the way, and Storybrooke is in danger, or they are waiting for us here and they will attack."

Emma sighed. She dusted herself off and looked around them. She saw nothing but virgin pine forest in every direction, the air still and cool. "We could head towards my parents' castle. There may be someone there, or in the surrounding town, that could help us."

Killian tipped his head up to the sky in frustration and brought it back down in resignation. "That's as good a plan as any." He looked down at his jeans and black shirt. "And now we're both dressed for the wrong realm."

Emma moved her hands around to his chest and fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. "Fine, let's go steal ourselves a new outfit and get you out of those clothes," she smiled up at him through his lashes.

Killian considered her without smiling, raising a sceptical eyebrow. "This portal has put you in a good mood." Killian placed little faith in her good mood. He had seen her moods shift plenty.

"As you once told me told me, we have to savour the moments when no one is actively attempting to kill us," she laid her head of his shoulder. "And now we have some time together. Just us."

"Just us and whatever is in this forest," he nodded.

"This portal has put you in a bad mood," she chastised, walking off down the largest path in search of a washing line of clothes. Killian followed without hesitation.

* * *

Emma's will-I/ should-I questions had evaporated on that first night of their trek, beside a fire that Killian lit in a quiet clearing. He had backed marginally away from the fire to throw on another log, when she settled in next to him, slipping her hands up his back and towards his shoulders. She was still trying to bump him out of his temper. She leaned in to kiss him, softly, before he could interrogate her as to her intentions. Her intentions remained unclear, even to Emma herself, a hazy idea that she would give him a push, then would follow along if he led. Following was out of character, but she was also out of her depth. She was hyper-aware that anything that involved the shedding of clothing in front of a campfire might mean more to him than he was willing to give without a statement of intent.

As it turned out, Killian's lust had required no grand emotional admissions on her part. He had her undressed and whispering his name before she entirely realised that they were no longer just kissing. Pirate, she thought. Disturbingly attractive pirate, she thought again.

By the time she felt able to take back some control of the situation, she lay panting next to him on a scratchy wool blanket, as he murmured praises into her shoulder about how beautiful she had looked while his tongue had brought her to orgasm. He pulled her tightly against him. She finally managed to speak coherent words, enough to tell him that she wanted him inside of her. He grinned and lifted himself over her. He sucked a nipple into his mouth and she gasped; she spread her legs a bit wider as he settled himself between her thighs. His mouth let go of her nipple, his thumb coming up to stroke it as he looked into her eyes.

She feared for a moment that he might tell her that he loved her.

But he didn't. He kissed her and bit her lower lip, holding her gaze as nudged her entrance. Emma held her breath; neither of them had had condoms in their pockets on that early morning walk to work in Storybrooke, and her birth control pills were sitting on a shelf in her kitchen, a whole realm away. So Killian waited, lined up and tugging at her bottom lip, for explicit permission.

Lust overruled her ability to process consequences. She thrust her hips up, taking him in almost to the hilt. He released her lip and her head fell back onto the ground, her eyes closing to focus on the sensation of him pressing into her as deep as possible. He moved in deep circles that stimulated her clit, until she begged him to take her harder. Killian's eyes went a bit wider at her words, and he thrust faster, changing the angle until he was hitting just the right spot. She murmured and moaned into his neck. He stroked that spot with his thrusts until her moans lost coherence and became loud enough to make him move his ear slightly further from her mouth.

"Say my name," he ordered. He knew that "I love you" was out of the question. She wasn't going to tell him what he wanted to hear. But he wanted to know that she was focussed on him; he wanted an acknowledgement that he was irreplaceable for her, that her body craved him.

Emma complied loudly and enthusiastically. She called out his name, told him that he was the best she had ever had, told him she was so close. Then she was screaming his name into the trees overhead and pulsing around him. He thrust twice more before released himself into her, burying his face into her chest and pushing himself into her as deep as he could while they came down slowly.

Emma stroked her fingers through his damp hair and kissed the sweat off his forehead. He eventually brought his face up to hers with a satisfied grin, and he kissed her gently. He scooted himself just to the side on the bedroll and kept her close, still wrapped up protectively against his body.

She wished she could just tell him she loved him; this was the right moment. But two hundred years of blank pages, all that history she knew nothing about… not yet. For all she thought she knew him, she did not, entirely. She was running her fingers along his hook, considering what she could say or do short of handing him what he wanted, which was certainly her heart. A grand gesture was required. Suddenly she looked up at him. He was considering her with intense blue eyes.

"Do you want your hand back?" she asked impulsively.

"These are your first words about our first time?" he replied, unimpressed.

She smiled. "Well, I think I already mentioned that you were the best I have ever had…"

"I never know how much stock to put into things said while a woman is in that state," he responded as neutrally as possible. "As for the hand, I tried that once before and it didn't take." The question had put all the tension back into his face and shoulders.

"But that was The Dark One. My magic is different. I can see in my mind where he keeps your hand; I can put it back on for you now, good as new. Or debauched as ever. I'll like it either way," she smiled again, encouragingly.

He ignored the sexual prompt. "Why are you making this offer?" He sounded edgy.

"Two reasons. I think the hook ties you to a painful past in a physical way, and maybe you are ready to let go of the symbol?" She feels him moving slightly away from her, offended and uncertain and defensive. "And, selfishly," she looked up at him, brought her lips right next to his ear, and breathed softly, "I have felt what you do to my body with one hand, and I'm dying to see what two can accomplish."

Killian leaned back against the pine needles on the forest floor, and he gazed into the fire for longer than she had anticipated, making his decision. "Alright, sorceress. Make it happen," he finally conceded.

She used the hook to pull him upright, and sat facing him, holding the hook in her hands. She closed her eyes, and found herself looking around Gold's shop back in Storybrooke. Her mind peeked into drawers and cabinets around the shop, finally locating the glass jar with his hand inside. She could feel Gold's presence; he knew she was there. She had to be quick, before he realised what she had come for. She kept hold of the hook with one hand and brought the other just above it, glowing white. The next moment, she felt Killian threading the fingers of his left hand through hers.

"Bloody hell, Swan" he swore. "You did it."

They both sat turning his arm this way and that, watching in the firelight as he adjusted to feel of it on his arm. He leaned back on his right hand and used the left to pull her quickly onto his lap.

"Okay, let's see what two hands can accomplish," he whispered into her hair.

...

Their journey towards Snow and Charming's castle took ages, as they missed off whole days to run their hands and tongues over each other's bodies. They looked for ways home, sure they did. They talked about it, about getting back to Henry, to her family, to birth control pills and hot coffee.

Emma found it undoubtedly easier to let her walls down with Killian when no one they knew was around. No one made anything of them, here. No parental expectations and no need to declare anything publicly. He never asked her for more than she would give. That first morning, she had threaded her fingers through his easily, carelessly. He had given her a wary look, but saw something unusually open in her expression that had made him smile. Honestly, he had been smiling now for most of their journey. And using his new left hand to great effect.

Then, they found the villa. They stayed in or near the enormous, soft bed for three days, exhausting themselves, sleeping, watching the stars through the glass skylight above the bed.

"It is an exquisite view," Emma exhaled every residual tension, watching those hawks circle the meadow with purpose and grace. She was considering telling him that she loved him. None of her misgivings about him had manifested. When she wanted to stop, he stopped. When she wanted more, he gave it. She had found nothing in 3 days to give her even the slightest cause for concern. Nothing in 3 weeks. The ropes were untied and her wrists unharmed, the references to centuries of sexual experience only meant he knew exactly how to please her, and his tetchiness could hardly be faulted given her own personality.

"The water looks beautiful," he leaned over her, oblivious to her thoughts, and kissed her gently. He tugged away part of the sheet that blocked access to her right breast. He rolled his thumb across her nipple, then slid his hand to her back and let his fingers trail down her spine. "Let's go for a swim."

She smiled at him indulgently. "Sure, let's swim." She stood up and looked out the window curiously. "Have you seen a pond?"

Killian's smile faltered. "A pond?" He looked at her closely and swept his arm towards the window. "No, I meant in the sea, of course."

Emma froze. The villa seemed to tilt slightly with his out-of-sync answer. She searched his face. Joking? Not a hint of it. "What. Ocean."

They both shot upright in the bed and looked out the windows. Too good to be true was always too good to be true, and she should have known that. He should have known that. Emma reached out tentatively and touched his hand, concentrating on Killian and how he thought of this situation. The scene around her changed abruptly. The smell of the meadow evaporated and the softest of sea breezes was blowing through the open windows. The villa remained the same, but was now surrounded by nothing but ocean on all sides, an unreal blue and clear for meters under the surface. She could see shoals of fish diving and rising in the water, and a whale breaching in the distance, calling its song across the gentle waves.

"Oh, shit." She looked at Killian. "Noooo… we were not seeing the same thing."

Killian shook her hand off and, for her, the ocean evaporated and the meadow reappeared with its birdsong and deep scent of the woods in the distance. He put his hands back on hers, concentrated all of his attention on her, and breathed out sharply. "Forest. Unnaturally beautiful forest," he sighed.

He took his hands off hers to see what happened. "Back to the sea. Looks like we've gone on different holidays, love."

"This stuff doesn't even freak you out anymore, does it?" Emma asked, disturbed.

"I've had 200 years of magic messing with my life and my head. I have been touching you with a hand that was cut off so long ago that I cannot believe it has sensation. So this," he waved his newly restored hand towards the windows, "is unexpected, but really I should have realised that this whole thing was surreal. Too blue, too warm, too perfect. The breeze hasn't shifted in days."

Emma looked into his eyes, thought about his love for her, thought about his outlook, and without touching him, the sea reappeared around her.

She relaxed and smiled. "There, now we are. Shall we go for that swim?"

"What, jump into the shifting puddle of magic? I don't think that's wise, love."

Emma shook her head. "So is this villa enchanted? It feels like light magic, nothing sinister. Fairies? Pixies?"

Killian sighed and fell back against the headboard. "I have no idea. It feels unthreatening, but then much of Neverland felt unthreatening if you didn't know any better."

Emma's mood had shifted, but she still had the warm afterglow of the days in the villa, with him, and it imbued her with an uncharacteristic optimism. She sat up and crossed her legs in front of him, sitting like a child with a winning smile of her face, and reached out her hands. "Come here, pirate. Sit like this, and take my hands." She hauled him up towards her.

Three days of unadulterated access to Emma's body had put Killian in an unsinkably good mood as well. He did as she asked, and sat facing her with their hand clasped together over their knees. "I wonder," she grinned, "if we can make it shift. Anywhere, anything, and we'll both be able to see it. You go first."

Killian closed his eyes. "Go on, Swan, close your eyes. I'll pick us a nice spot." He thought for a few moments, then said, "Open."

Emma gasped: "A little village on a cove, seagulls, enormous waves, stormy seas. There are worn-looking houses with shutters, all warm with lights. It looks cozy."

Killian smiled. "This does work. It's the village where I was born."

Emma melted, and she leaned over to kiss him deeply, one blank page filled in. "Thank you for showing me that."

They both looked around, while Killian pointed out his old home, the small harbour, and the bakery where he had first stolen anything, ever. "So that's ground zero of piracy for Killian Jones," Emma laughed.

"All right, Emma. Your turn," he said.

They opened their eyes to a loud street in central Portland, traffic and pedestrians a strange intrusion as they sat naked on a bed. No one, it seemed, could see them. Emma pointed out a faded yellow house, large, with a wraparound porch that needed painting.

"My last foster home," she said. "When I ran away from that one, I never looked back. I was out of the system until Neil landed me in prison about 8 months later."

They continued the game for a while, transporting themselves to real places (a café in Central Park that Emma loved) and imaginary (a snow-bound temple high in the mountains of a land that did not exist but Killian had read about).

But Emma suddenly remembered her hunger. And then she realised something was sinister about this place. "Killian, it's been three days here and there's no food. And I don't know about you, but I haven't been hungry. Until now."

He looked around, already familiar with every inch of the small villa. "So we are trapped in a very enticing enchantment, but will probably die of hunger as we cannot leave the villa to venture out into any of these lands."

"Who could have created the enchantment?" Emma asked. "How do we break it? I can't remember how the land outside this villa looked when we arrived. The enchantment must have taken hold after we came inside."

Killian arched an eyebrow at her. "Given that the enchantment fits our every desire so personally, feels utterly safe, even lets us change it and show each other our dreamscapes…" He paused, uncertain how to finish the sentence without setting her off. "I think one of us created it," he said. Then he added pointedly, "And it wasn't me."

Emma backed off him in shock. "You think I trapped us here to die?"

Killian shook his head at her and reached out to hold her. "No, of course not, Emma, love. Look at me." His words had switched off all the light in her. "I think you created all of this to give us space, you know, just for us. We don't get a lot of time alone, with no monsters or demands. No David looking like he wants to punch me every time I get near you. And most importantly, none of your walls."

Emma shook her head furiously. "I did not do this. I don't see how I could. How would I do this?"

"Isn't Regina always telling you that magic comes from emotion? Particularly yours. Maybe you were feeling quite… emotional?" He tread carefully around the words, realising that this was going to call for Emma to acknowledge her feelings for him. He knew she'd rather not, despite three weeks of sexual intimacy. It did not mean she was ready to discuss emotional intimacy. "All this time out here together…?"

"And what emotion do you think created this?" Emma set her feet down decisively on the floor. "You are constantly fishing for me to admit to something more than I feel."

Killian sighed to himself. She would fight forever rather than admit any sort of connection, and they would starve. He tried another tack. Killian stood up now, looking at her more fiercely and allowing a level of annoyance into his voice. "More than you will admit, but not more than you feel, apparently, judging by the very personal landscapes. You created a little paradise for us to be together. So you tell me… what emotion do you think created all this?"

Emma shrieked in anger. "You are infuriating! I did not do this!" She shoved him so that his back hit the wall, hard.

"Three weeks of this, Swan! Us on bedrolls in front of a campfire every night, up against random trees in the forest, on a dark table in a tavern, down several alleyways because you have a wicked thing about getting caught… and now three days of nonstop sex in enchantment villa here and we are only just now realising we're hungry? Do you not think that speaks of something more than a casual fuck?"

Emma seethed, gripping her hands into fists. "You are not going to trick me into saying that I love you!" She felt anger overrunning every other thought. "I will not listen to any more talk of love!"

There was a sound like glass shattering, and the mirage around the villa rained down on them in tiny shards that evaporated before they touched the ground. The villa disappeared, and Emma and Killian fell onto the forest floor, near the bedrolls and supplies they had stolen at the start of their journey. The air felt cold and the ground felt colder. The skies had darkened, and a far-off clap of thunder warned that the weather had turned. The sunshine and warm air inside the villa had gone, gone, gone.

Emma sat shocked into silence that her temper had broken the enchantment. She might not admit it out loud, but his theory had been proven. She loved him, and that love had created the enchantment. His provoking a fight had shattered it.

"Well done, Swan," Killian smiled triumphantly. "We're free. Now get up, love, and get some clothes on. Let's find a tavern. I'm starving."

"Killian… I, um, clearly…"

Killian waved off her confessions with a flourish of his hand. "Save it for a session with Dr Hopper, Swan. There is nothing more I can do with denial on this level. You managed to create and destroy an entire vacation home built of love and magic without at any time admitting that you have feelings for me." Killian had already pulled on his trousers and shirt and was considering which direction would yield a village most quickly.

Emma quickly stepped in front of him as he turned to storm off up the path. She caught his hands in hers and searched his face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Killian. I know you are my happy ending."

"No," Killian snapped. He pulled back and held up his hands against her words. "I am not your happy ending and you are not mine. I kept worrying that villains would not get happy endings, no matter how reformed, but it seems to me that no one gets one. What was your parents' happy ending? True love's kiss that brought Snow back from Regina's sleeping curse? Their wedding, when Regina threatened their lives? Or when they had to put their fragile firstborn into a magic wardrobe within minutes of the birth?"

Emma, so used to him chasing her love, had no words to answer him denying it.

"They have their true love, well and good, but that was no happy ending for them. The tragedy and struggle just kept on coming. And you, Swan, will not even let us have the one thing that makes the continuing struggle worth it."

The first smatterings of rain were hitting the leaves in the canopy above them. Killian exhaled deeply, then moved to help her lace the front of her dress. "Even when you do admit that you love me…"

"I do, Killian. I do love you," Emma whispered into him.

"Even now you do," he corrected, lifting her chin to look into her eyes, "You will still have to continue to trust and believe in me through all the crises and uncertainties. And there will be plenty. There is not a magic in that declaration that means everything is fine forever. This does not end happily, it just has the happiness of our love woven through it. You have to keep faith in that love every day."

The rain had begun to come down more insistently. She felt that he had just shifted the goalpost rather dramatically. He pulled her into him and kissed her, his lips brushing over hers until she responded. They stood under the shelter of the tree canopy for a few more minutes, deepening that kiss, until Killian rested his forehead against hers and took a breath.

"Now let's go find that tavern before we starve or freeze," he put his arm around her waist, just as he had back in Storybrooke, and steered her down the path. When she hesitated, wanting something more for her declaration of love than it had gained her, he turned and took both her hands. "Come on, love. I'll find us a nice alleyway."

"Promise?" she smiled, and followed him.


	2. Chapter 2

At the next town, Killian ushered Emma into a tavern and sat her down next to the fire. Their clothes were soaked through, along with their bedrolls and all their possessions. Even Killian was swearing under his breath about the lack of modern waterproofing in the Enchanted Forest.

"You've gone soft," Emma mumbled with a tight smile, the best humour she could manage though shivers.

Killian set their packs near the hearth and searched his pockets for stolen coins, and then started hunting through his pack. "I've gone so soft that I'm wondering if they'll take Visa for a room at this tavern." He found his jeans in the pack and dug through the wallet still tucked into a back pocket. "Ha, here we go." He held up a gold coin.

Emma snorted. "You have a doubloon mixed in with the dollars and dimes and the debit card?"

"And a damn good thing I never listen to you about turning all the gold into modern currency in the bank," he said. "I'm still pleased with my property portfolio, mind you. You have no idea how much property in New York goes up every year."

"Wait… you own property in New York? So exactly how much money do you have, pirate?"

"I see I'm looking like a better prospect to you, love," Killian winked.

Emma looked up to the ceiling and counted ten for patience. "While I am impressed that you stole enough to become a New York landlord, clearly that is a discussion for later. Right now, how many of those gold coins did you have in your wallet?"

"Three. Henry and I play a gambling game with them… which I promised him I would not tell you. So ignore that." Emma gave him a hard stare, and he rushed on: "It will be enough for a few days." He leaned down to kiss her. Her teeth were still chattering, but she pulled back.

"Get me some dinner and somewhere warm and dry to sleep, and I will consider forgiving you for teaching my son to gamble."

Killian walked over to the bar and negotiated with a balding man with very few teeth, who appeared to own the place. The man ordered a young girl off to prepare a room and a warm bath for them.

Killian spoke to the man for a bit longer. Emma noticed a lot of pointing and hand-waving on both sides. In the end, the balding proprietor had tears in his eyes and was shaking Killian's hand like a long-lost brother.

"What the hell was that about?" Emma asked when he returned with two mugs of ale.

Killian waved over the serving girl, who followed with two plates of hot food. Emma leant her face down over the steam rising from the mashed potatoes and sighed.

"That was me gathering information about the town and telling the proprietor about our situation. I was trying to see if there was any evil about. There's no point in secrecy this time. We haven't time travelled, the future is not in danger and the man might have known of threats to the kingdom."

"Did he? Know of any threats?" Emma asked through a mouthful of roast chicken.

"Good lord, Swan. Don't talk with your mouth full," Killian frowned at her. She rolled her eyes and swallowed.

"It's not like I had a mother to teach me table manners," Emma huffed.

"Don't make everything about being a foster child," he said sternly. "You are old enough to have picked up basic manners. And no, he did not know of any threats. But he did know of me, had once joined my crew for a short trip. And he feels great loyalty to your family, and won't hear of us paying for the room."

Emma deliberately took a bite of potato before answering. "Lucky us," she smiled.

Killian shook his head and ate his dinner without further comment.

…

Emma sank into the tub with a contented sigh. The warm water curled around every toe and finger, turning them from icy white to a healthy pink in moments. Killian had watched her gather up her hair, strip off her clothes and lunge at the bath the moment the door shut behind them.

"Oh, god, that feels good," Emma whispered. Then, a little louder, "God, that is so good."

Killian cocked his head to one side. "Somehow that sentiment cheapens all the things you've been moaning to me during sex."

Emma raised a weary eyebrow in his direction. "It's a different kind of good. But it is still gooooood. Seriously, get in here."

Killian kicked off his boots and threw another log onto the fire that the serving girl had started in the fireplace. He slowly undressed and walked over to the tub, lowering himself in behind her.

"That does feel amazing, actually," he admitted. He sank back up to his neck, and Emma settled herself against his chest. He brought his face down and nuzzled the hairs dripping down in the dampness at the base of her neck.

"Oh, now that's even better," Emma giggled. What the hell was happening to her, she wondered. Giggling.

It was all the permission Killian needed to slide his hands across her breasts and begin drawing leisurely circles over nipples. One hand slipped lower into the water and stroked up and down her thighs. "I do like having both hands," he remarked, as his left made its way between her thighs and nudged into her folds, while his right stayed occupied with her breasts.

Emma sighed again, slipping her hands behind her back until she discovered his erection. She slid one hand beneath his balls and the other gripped his cock. She felt his whole body tense as she slowly moved her hand up and down his length, her grip relaxed and soft. He was pressing gently against her clit with thumb, setting off a warm glow from within her. All the candles in the room lit up with her magic and the fire roared slightly brighter.

"Please do not burn down the tavern, love," he cautioned, "and do not scream. I don't want anyone breaking down the door to rescue the princess."

"How do you know you'll make me scream, huh? Arrogant," she murmured.

He dipped his head down and sucked a nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue and teeth. Emma gasped. He shifted left hand so that one finger slipped inside her, testing her arousal. She moaned and lifted her hips into his hand.

"Yes, you are going to scream. Just try to moderate your volume a bit," he said confidently. He worked her clit with a slow, steady pressure, and added another finger inside to curl into the spot he knew would make her scream the loudest. She instinctively ground her hips into his hand, building quickly towards her release. She put hands down at the base of the tub to lift herself towards him. The temperature of the water rose slightly as her magic sparked off with her increasing pleasure.

"Steady, Swan," Killian reminded her, and she tried to rein back her magic and chase her orgasm at the same time. Her volume notched up as she neared the peak. Killian used his free hand to turn her face towards him, so he could swallow some of her delicious sounds with his mouth. She bit down on his bottom lip as she came, trying not to scream and drawing his blood in her attempt.

She pulled her teeth out of his lip as he stroked her down sweetly from her high.

"Ha, didn't scream, pirate," she announced.

"I'm bleeding, Swan. And the water is nearly burning us it's so hot. I prefer the screaming."

"Don't be such a baby," she said, passing her hand across his lip to heal him. She stood up to get out of the bath and offered him her hand to help him up out of the uncomfortably hot water. She wrapped them up in the clear linen cloths that the maid had left by the bed. Then she directed Killian to sit on the edge of the bed. She sank to her knees in front of him.

"Let's see how loud I can make you scream," she whispered to him.

Emma licked along the seam of his balls before bringing her tongue up his shaft and closing her mouth over the head. Killian swore loudly. She gripped the base of his cock and squeezed firmly as her tongue looped over head of his cock and then tickled the sensitive spot near the tip. He moaned and leaned back on his hands, still watching her intently as her blonde head ducked up and down over his throbbing length. By the time she sucked him all the way to the back of her throat and swallowed around him, he was very loudly and lewdly praising her talents. Just as she had predicted, he shouted out her name again and again as he came down her throat. She lazily licked up the last drops from the head of his cock, giving him her most sinful smile.

They crawled across the sheets and snuggled into the bed together, naked and warm under the blankets. Emma snuffed out the candles with her magic, and Killian felt himself starting to drop off into a satisfied sleep.

"So was that worth a gold coin for my efforts?" Emma asked quietly.

Killian laughed sharply. "Woman, you can have the apartment block in Manhattan for that."

Emma sat up slightly. "It's an entire apartment block?" she asked in shock.

"Later," Killian muttered, and dropped off to sleep. Emma stared at him for a while, a few more blank pages starting to fill in, before she dropped her head onto his chest and listened to his breathing until it lulled her to sleep.

…

The pounding on the door must have been going on for quite some time, because by the time Killian had leapt out of bed and put his trousers on, whoever was on the other side was taking steps to break the door off its hinges. Emma tried to rouse herself out a dream that had started to incorporate the pounding, and she looked across the room in a fuzzy panic at Killian.

He yanked open the door to find the bald proprietor panting in front of him.

"Is the princess safe?" he sputtered between breaths.

Killian looked perplexed and worried. "Yes, she's fine. She's right here," he said. "What the hell is wrong, Smith?"

"There are knights coming, riding hard for this very tavern, intent on capturing the princess," he said. "You need to run."

Emma had managed to get out of bed and throw her clothes on behind the door. "Run? Who are we running from?"

"Arthur," panted Smith. "Arthur of Camelot. He's coming on fast."

"King Arthur is real…" Emma began asking. She checked herself. She had just gone down on Captain Hook, for god's sake, and she was herself a fairy tale character, even if she didn't feel like it. A real fairy tale character with real enemies. At some point, well before restoring his hand, Killian had ceased being Captain Hook to her. She wondered if perhaps she had papered over 200 years of piracy, with dark denim and debit cards and a smart phone and a bank account, casting aside Hook too easily in her mind.

"Arthur's real as a sharp blade, milady," said Smith. "Now, hurry. I have weapons and horses for you downstairs. You cannot wait any longer."

Killian assured Smith that they would be down straight away. He slammed the door shut and started gathering up their possessions. Emma finished lacing up her clothes, now dry after a night by the fireside. Killian seemed quiet and preoccupied, and less shocked about the revelation that King Arthur was after her than she would have expected.

"What the hell does King Arthur, who is apparently real, want with me? And after nearly a month of us wandering around out here?" Emma asked.

"I don't know, but I do know that Smith has our best interests at heart, so let's move," he rushed Emma out the door and down the back stairs of the tavern. Smith was waiting with two horses, two swords and two daggers.

"Good luck to you, princess," said Smith, as she mounted the horse. "I know your mother and father well, and they have always ruled fairly. We hope to have them back in the Enchanted Forest again."

Emma was not used to gratitude from subjects. She had no idea how to respond to that, so she thanked the man and promised to return if possible to pay him for his troubles.

Killian grasped the reins of her horse and pulled him about to start their journey. He shook Smith's hand and then spurred his horse forward. Emma raced after him, adjusting to the strange saddle. Growing up in the foster system had not afforded any time to learn horseback riding. She held on best she could and tried to keep up with Killian as he rushed into the forest.

"We can pick up a main road a few miles ahead," he called back. "But I want to try to keep Arthur guessing about where we're headed."

"Killian, I have no idea how to ride a horse," Emma shouted.

He slowed his pace slightly, waiting for her to pull as close to alongside as the landscape allowed.

"Just hang on very tight. Your horse will naturally follow mine as its first preference. The important thing is not to fall off," he explained. Emma nodded. Killian put his heels to his horse's sides again, and both horses sped up all over again. Emma clung on until they finally emerged on a dirt track wide enough for a car. The track wound up into the mountains, and Killian slowed the horses to a steady walk. He led them upwards relentlessly for hours. The wind had picked up, and now that they had emerged from the close protection of the forest, it cut through their thin cloaks. Emma tried to hang onto her memories of the warm bath. She tried to hum some magic into her bones to warm herself, but none came. She was too exhausted and drained.

Killian looked back at her finally, holding out his hand. He felt her freezing fingertips and saw her shuddering with cold. The side of the track looked icy now; they had crossed the snow line.

"Not far now, love," he squeezed her hand. They had stopped to water and feed the horses once, a couple of hours ago, but neither of them had had anything to eat or drink since the night before.

Finally, just in front of them, appeared a lush, twisting tree like no other around it. At this height, most of the trees were stunted pines. This tree looked tropical, bright green, with lemon-yellow flowers that dripped from its heavy branches and carpeted the ground. The space below the tree was free of ice. The tree sang to her with magic. She could hear a sweet melody in her head, and she knew it came from the tree, but she also knew that no music was audible.

They stopped the horses and dismounted beneath the tree. It felt inexplicably warmer under its branches.

"Now you'll need to get us in, Swan," Killian said, pulling her close. She noticed that he had strapped his sword around his waist and had a dagger in his boot. He was fixing her sword into place, low around her hips. "This place will respond to your magic."

"I'm so tired, Killian," Emma almost felt tearful as she explained. "I can't even feel my magic."

"Allow me," Killian grinned. He tightened his hold on her and kissed her, gently at first, then with more passion. He backed her up until she was pinned against the tree, his body trapping her there and his knee gaining admittance between her legs. Emma felt her hands come up to tangle in his hair. A desperate need for him crept back into her mind. She felt her magic reenergise like a back-up generator sputtering to life.

Just as suddenly, she felt herself being pulled back into the tree, with Killian wrapped around so close that he felt like an extension of her own body. The branches reached down to cover them, blocking them from view, had anyone but the horses been there to see. The perfume of the flowers overpowered Emma; she could hardly breathe. It seemed to have a profound effect on Killian as well. He struggled to talk, but could not. They began sinking into unconsciousness on the soft grass at the foot of the trunk, still wrapped up in each other's arms, her head resting on his chest and his fingers twined into her hair. Just before her eyes closed, Emma noticed the air shimmer and the scene beyond the branches of the tree changed. The horses and mountain trail disappeared from view. White light blocked her vision. She closed her eyes and relaxed into Killian, and slept.


	3. Chapter 3

Killian swatted at something he sensed in front of his face. He felt his hand come into contact with something small and warm and almost weightless. He snapped open his eyes and sat up in rush, as completely awake as he had been completely asleep only a moment before. Emma's head slipped off his chest and fell to the grass with muted thud. Every nerve ending fired alive as he took in the scene in front of him. Emma gave a short snore and snuggled deeper into the grass.

Something buzzed back in front of his face, and this time he fought the desire to swat it. Its dull light switched back on, recovering from his earlier assault, and it shook itself out in front of his eyes. A fairy, he knew, but what type - helpful or vengeful or injured - he had no idea.

"Sorry," he apologised with a shrug. "Just a reflex. Something unexpected waking you up on a pirate ship is generally something you need to defend yourself against."

The fairy grew in size, revealing herself a bit more. Her dress looked like one of the yellow flowers, but her expression said she was not going to accept his apology so quickly.

"Hook," she spat. "What a pleasure."

"Ara, you look as stunning as ever. Graceful and dazzling as the sun on…"

The angry fairy zoomed forward and thrust one finger out at the space between his eyes. "Stop talking, pirate. You're only in because of her," the fairy jerked her head towards Emma's sleeping form. "We can toss you back out in the cold while she sleeps."

Emma continued to doze peacefully on the grass next to him, covered in yellow flowers from the branches overhead. He brushed his hand through his hair and more of the bell-shaped flowers fell to the grass around him. The branches of the tree had righted themselves while he and Emma had dozed, and the view out to a small village was clear.

"Can you help us?" Killian asked. "And look," he waved both hands at her. "Get my name right. Hook doesn't really work now."

The fairy backed off a bit. A small explosion of glitter burst in front of him and she reappeared, now the size of a small adult. She sat down in the grass next to him and took his left hand in hers.

"Hmmm. She did this? Very well, _Killian_ ," his name dripped off her tongue with sarcasm, "wake the Saviour and we'll talk." She stood and walked a few paces towards the village. "I'll be over there," she pointed out a green space between two buildings on the high street.

He leaned over Emma and carefully brushed the flowers off her hair and face, so that she would not breathe in so much of their soporific scent. She must be more sensitised to the magic, he thought. He bent down and picked her up from the ground. The flowers scattered into the breeze. He set her down beside a small stream and dipped his hand in the cool water. He rubbed a small amount over her forehead and airways.

"Emma," he called softly. "Time to wake up, love."

She opened her eyes carefully and slowly brought his face into focus. She felt like she had a hangover, but could not remember either of them drinking. Killian didn't even have his flask on him.

"Splash some water on your face," he told her. "It will clear some of the pollen from your lungs."

Pollen? She sat up and heard the quiet rumble of the stream running past over smooth granite stones. She dipped her face over the water hand and splashed water over her nose and mouth and rubbed it into her hands. The cool water cleared her head. She dried her face on her skirt and looked around.

"Where is this?" she asked, taking in the almost quaint scene in front of her. A perfect little main street stretched in front of them, running away from the green park they sat in now. Flowers of every kind surrounded them – sunflowers, roses, daisies – Emma quickly realised that she knew very little about flowers and could not name the majority of them. A warm breeze blew the scent of lavender over them both. The high street had little shops and cafés, all perfectly painted, with coloured and striped awnings over the pristine pavements, little window boxes with more flowers in front of every business and house.

"Gotta be fairies, right?" Emma asked him.

He nodded, resigned to dealing with the fickle creatures. "Yes, fairies. I had thought they might be able to tell us how to get back to Storybrooke. But also they may know what Arthur is after, or have a way to protect you from him." Killian pulled them both to their feet.

"They may know what caused that portal in Storybrooke in the first place," she added. She missed Henry fiercely. "I suppose we shouldn't tell them that Blue and the others are trapped in that hat." She looked at him sympathetically. She knew he still felt guilty for trapping them while Gold had his heart.

"I hope Regina and Belle have found a way to free them, with or without us," Killian said. "We may have a more immediate problem, though. I know one of the fairies from… before," he evaded. "Ara. She controls this tree. I'm afraid I piggybacked on their desire to see you to gain admittance. She may not be… thrilled… to deal with me again."

Emma caught the implication straight away. "You've got yourself quite the complex history with fairies, don't you? Is this a story of the trapping-them-in-a-hat variety or something more intimate?"

Killian raised an eyebrow at her. "Swan, I do have a history, not just with fairies, but that is irrelevant to you and me."

"I am simply curious about how many women in this – and other – realms you've managed to shag over the last couple of centuries," she kept her voice level. "On a purely practical level, I am wondering if we going to be begging help from angry ex-lovers at every turn." More pages filling in, she thought. She just hoped they wouldn't all be illustrated.

Killian scratched nervously behind his ear. "Now's not the best time for this conversation. Let's go see what Ara can offer. I'm sure the fairies will want to help you, Swan. They will have information…"

"I'd like some information," Emma cut him off. "What's your number?"

"My number?"

"Yeah, the number of women you've slept with. Including those you didn't stick around long enough to actually sleep with. The ones were you just pulled your trousers back up and walked away…"

"Emma. Emma, come on," he shuffled himself around in front of her, trying to meet her eyes without directly confronting her lie-detecting gaze. "You knew I had a past. It has nothing to do with us. I would never ask for your number…"

"Twelve. My number is twelve," she said. "Before you," she added, taking him in from boots to ruffled hair. "Making you… thirteen." She wondered if that number carried the same superstitious punch in his realm.

"This is not really a fair comparison. I have been alive for centuries longer than you," he spoke cautiously. She stood there looking like a keg of explosives, and he did not want to inadvertently light a match. "It's not like I've been keeping track. I don't have a tick list somewhere."

Emma glared at him. Killian took her unwilling arm and tugged her towards the high street, trying to placate her: "We should not keep Ara waiting any longer. We can have this conversation another time. Back at home, with Henry sleeping safely down the hallway." He tried to conjure up an image of domestic normalcy, hoping to make it sound achievable.

He rubbed small circles into her lower back as they walked past the perfect little shops and homes. He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it tenderly. He felt her begin to relax as they approached the temple where Ara had agreed to meet them. The entrance stood back from the street with a small area of grass and fruit trees at the front. Ara sat on a bench under a tree bearing bright pink fruit in almost the shape of a pear. She offered one to Emma.

"Saviour, the fairies have been gathering inside, waiting to meet you," she smiled broadly and sincerely at Emma. Ara glanced over at Killian with disdain. "Hook, you can wait out here."

The fairy's dismissive tone brought Emma back to her senses. It was not fair to judge him on his past lovers, and she knew that. She had no reason to suspect he had been or would be anything but faithful to her, or that he had been anything but faithful to Milah. Emma reached over to him and twined her fingers into his, pulled him to her side and told Ara, "I need Killian to come with me. We fell through that portal together and we need to find a way out together."

Killian pulled Emma close, and spoke into hair in voice so secretive that she barely understood. "You know, love, there may be a few fairies in there who won't be that pleased to see me again."

Emma felt her neck stiffen, but she shook it off. "Okay. It's okay. Just tell me how many?"

Killian scratched his boot along the stone pathway to the temple, avoided her gaze. "Well, I don't know who's in there. Possibly… quite a few."

Emma snorted out a laugh at that. "Seriously?"

"I spent decades in Neverland," he shrugged. "Lots of fairies."

Ara looked at him in disgust. "How nice that we could pass the time for you," she bit out through her teeth.

She led Emma and Killian through a gate formed of twisting acacia trees. In the centre of a large courtyard was an ancient tree, enormous and brilliant, with deep red leaves and waxy flowers of the purest white. The deep perfume of the flowers washed through the temple; Emma felt it settle in her hair and clothing, like she could sense its weight on her. Killian sneezed and reeled back a step. He felt all of his nervousness drugged out of him with the overpowering scent, replaced by a peaceful desire to comply. It frightened him. He liked his nerves; they kept him sharp and ready.

Dozens of fairies flitted through the tree branches and rematerialised as human-size creatures on the lawn surrounding the tree. Emma melted a bit closer into Killian's side as they approached her, touching her hair and peering into her eyes. As he warned, some of them stopped to look him over with particular interest.

A fairy with deep black hair spilling over a white gown called from her seat in one of the lowest branches: "Emma Swan. Come to me, Saviour. How is it that you are here with us?"

As though pulled forward like a puppet, Emma walked to stand in front of the White Fairy. As she moved nearer the tree, she seemed to pass through a transparent barrier. When she the boundaries of the tree's branches, her scratchy, scruffy, stolen dress transformed into a turquoise gown that stopped just above her knees. Her shoes were gone and the grass threaded between her toes. Her hair felt as though it were shining, straight and bright, as it fell down her back. She felt renewed, no sleeves or woollen cloak to encumber her bare arms, the soft, simple dress allowing her to move freely. Killian had been renewed as well, back to his pirate-leather trousers and plain linen shirt the colour of his eyes. She drew in a sharp breath as she looked him over. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Killian tried to shake of some of the enchantment. He answered the question: "I brought us here," he addressed the White Fairy. "We fell through a portal in Storybrooke. I fell in first, pulling Emma in after me, and I was thinking of this place as I fell."

"Hook," nodded the White Fairy. She noticed his left hand. "Or not… indeed. Did you intend to bring the Saviour to the Forest? I fear it is not safe for her. It is not safe for you, either, but I think we were all willing to let you take your chances." Around them, fairies heads bobbed in agreement. They may not stoop to hurting him themselves, but they were willing to let others do so.

"Now that's hardly kind, not the fairy way," he argued, grinning mischievously. "I have never taken or given anything to the Fairies that was not specifically agreed upon. I have never stolen anything, of any kind, from any of you."

The White Fairy brushed aside his declaration. "You have not answered my question. Did you intend to bring the Saviour here?"

"No," he answered with authority. "We were happy that morning in Storybrooke. I did not open the portal, and I did not intentionally bring us to the Enchanted Forest."

"Arthur is searching for you," the Queen intoned. "For you _and_ for her. He wants you both, alive, at least in the first instance. He opened that portal from this side. He knew where in Storybrooke to trap you, and opened it under your feet. He has access to powerful magic to accomplish that."

Emma furrowed her brow, deep in thought. "Does he know we're here with you? Can he enter as we did?"

"You were invited in. Arthur will not be. He is not a good man, and he means to harm you," the Queen explained. "But he is resourceful and persistent, and he will find a way in here eventually."

Killian instinctively put his arms around Emma. The fairies gasped slightly, as one. Even Killian could see that he and Emma were glowing with an inner light. He tugged her tighter to his chest; the glow increased. True love, he thought, illuminated in the Fairies' sacred space. It came to him in a rush that he had forced an admission of love from her, back when the villa shattered around them, but he had never said the words to her. Idiot, he thought.

"Well, you must stay together, that much is obvious," the White Fairy continued. "We can't send you directly back to Storybrooke. Whatever magic Arthur used to open that portal also closed the way back. But if we combine our magic with yours, we can send you somewhere else. Somewhere safe, while we figure out what Arthur wants and how to stop him."

"Can we jump realms?" Emma asked.

"Possibly, but magic that powerful leaves a trail, and the purveyor of Arthur's magic would follow it," said a tiny, purple fairy, pushing her glasses up her nose and hurrying to sit near the White Fairy. She carried a book in her arms. "I think Merlin is after them."

"We need a more subtle solution if we are to outwit Merlin and buy time to figure out his plan," the White Fairy agreed.

"The Villa," said Killian in a rush. "Emma created a sort of safehouse and she was able to conjure images of places that both of us could see and smell and hear, though we never tried stepping out into them. Could we use that to transport ourselves somewhere safe?"

"Yes…" the White Fairy consulted with the bookish purple fairy beside her. "Yes, we could add a small amount of fairy dust to push you through." The White Fairy produced a vial of glowing dust, and she tossed it down to Killian. He caught it sure and secured it in a pocket. "But stay in this realm. Use just a pinch of the dust, no more. And do not tell us where you are going! It must be known only to yourselves."

Tears had gathered in Emma's eyes. She had been barely able to breathe since the White Fairy said the way back to Storybrooke, back to Henry, was blocked.

The White Fairy fluttered down from the tree to stand in front of Emma. She took Emma's hands in hers, and brushed away the tears. "We will find a way back to Storybrooke, back to your son and your family and your friends," the White Fairy promised. "Please trust in us and in your love. We will work tirelessly to send you home."

Emma let out a small sob and buried her face in Killian's shirt. The fairies around them let out shuddering sighs and a few tears, all thoughts of revenge against Killian forgotten as he comforted Emma. Killian could not help a small inward smile; fairies were absolute slaves to a True Love story. Emma had saved him. Again.

"Let her rest here for a night, Killian," the White Fairy said kindly. "She must gather the strength to recreate your safehouse, this time with the potential to actually travel. Arthur is coming, but I do not sense that he is close. When you go, make sure that you choose the destination, not her, to make your journey even less traceable."

Killian nodded. The fairies led them across the street to small house full of light and colour. He saw a small kitchen towards the back and thick, cushioned armchairs by the windows facing the street. The floorboards felt warm and soft under their bare feet, as though nothing here could hurt them. Killian sank into a soft chair near the window. The fairies shut the door behind them and left them alone for Emma to recover. Killian pulled her into his lap, searching for something to say that would pull her out of her worry and grief. His hands roamed over the silky fabric of the dress and up her bare arms.

Finally, he gazed down on her head, balanced against his shoulder. He nudged his forehead against hers, so that he could look into her eyes. "So… and please believe I would never have asked this, it's only because you brought it up back in the park… but now you have me wondering." He paused for beat. "Neil, Walsh, me… who are the other ten?"

Emma swung for him, laughing. He caught her fist and brought the knuckles to his mouth, kissing each one.

"I love you, Emma," he whispered.

"I love you, too," she responded. "Obviously," she added, turning her still-glowing hand slowly in front of him. "I hope the light switches off when we leave Fairy Land, because we're going to be hellish easy to spot, otherwise."


	4. Chapter 4

Emma managed to construct the villa again, right under the fairies' sacred tree. This time there was no mistaking its magic, shimmering and glowing and humming with her power. Emma added a bit of furniture this time - a table and chairs, a fireplace, a sofa, some rugs - to save the embarrassing implications of having nothing in there other than the bed. She also added some walls rather than just windows – now that others were looking, she wanted a bit of privacy with her pirate. She tilted her head to the side in proud approval at its mix of modern architecture (really, how had she not noticed how out of place it looked in the Enchanted Forest the first time?) and log-cabin comfort.

The fairies fluttered about the place with piles of clothing, shoes and, importantly, food. This time, she did not intend to start a lengthy, sex-driven fast. The fairies packed away warm cloaks and one even conjured a good approximation of Killian's leather greatcoat. That fairy looked a bit wistful and she tucked it into a wardrobe at the edge of the room.

Every fairy wanted to hug the Saviour and wish her luck. Killian pushed her inside the door to cut short the goodbyes. He wanted away from the meddling creatures as quickly as possible. He knew they were going to help, but the price with fairies was always intrusion into his thoughts and feelings, and his relationship with Emma was complex enough with other hands in the mix. He hadn't really wanted Emma to hear the he loved her for the first time from a magic glow under a tree. Far better to discover that your relationship was true love over time, he thought, and not feel the need to live up to a magical ideal.

The White Fairy flutter to an open window of the villa while Killian and Emma sat cross-legged on the bed, facing each other like the last time, hands clasped together over their knees.

"Killian, you imagine the place you want to go. Somewhere in the realm, somewhere you know well enough to see in vivid detail," she said. Killian nodded, eyes closed and focussed on their destination. "Emma, channel your magic through Killian's thoughts."

Killian opened one eye and looked at Emma. "Careful in there, Swan. Keep your magic off my unrelated thoughts," he warned.

Emma shook her head at him. "What are you afraid I'm going to find out, Captain?"

"There is plenty I am afraid you'll find out, and I would prefer the chance to tell you myself, in my own time. So kindly keep your magic on task," he said, shooting her one last meaningful look before he closed his eyes again.

Emma mentally added in more blank pages. One step forward and several back with getting to know this man.

Emma closed her eyes and sent a white light out around them. She tugged one hand free of his and settled it over his heart, feeling his pendants beneath her palm. "Oh, I see it," she smiled, whispering, giving his hand a squeeze. "Now, White Fairy, we're ready."

The White Fairy zipped into the air above their heads and scattered just enough fairy dust to supercharge Emma's magic. The glitter exploded into the glow of Emma's enchantment. The White Fairy flew out the open window in a whoosh, as the whole of the villa tilted and disappeared behind a burst of white light. When the light dimmed again, it was gone.

…

Emma and Killian opened their eyes again when they felt the heat of the magic diminish. Their little holiday home had transformed, slotting neatly on top of cliff above the tiny fishing village where Killian grew up. It looked like any of the other little houses, now, flaking white paint across the plaster walls and battered, sea blue shutters at the edges of the windows. The windows afforded a view across the harbour, a few fishing boats still tied to the docks, but most out on the water in the distance. It was a working day, and Emma could hear the chatter of the market square in the town below.

Emma and Killian grinned at each other in amazement. In her concentration on the magic, Emma had wrapped his necklace once around her fist, and was pressing it hard into his chest. She released it as she relaxed, patting his chest and dropping her hand back down to his. He slipped his hand behind her head and pulled her across his lap for a kiss. She leaned into him, then crawled close, and lay him down against the mattress. She kissed him slowly, running her fingers over the scruff on his jaw.

"That actually worked," he said in wonder.

"Will Arthur be able to figure out where you were born?" she asked, sliding off his chest and onto her side on the bed, facing him.

"Not anyone left alive who still remembers my origins," Killian replied. "And I wasn't born here. I just grew up here. I was born in my mother's country."

"Where was that?"

"Camelot, of course. Why the hell else would that bandit Arthur be after us?"

Emma stared at him, her mouth wide open. Really? That was relevant information. That was a blank page that should have been filled in previously, right? She felt completely thrown all over again.

"Killian," she frowned and tried to keep her voice steady. "My love." She searched for the words. "I accept that there is a lot of history behind…" she waved her hand generally over him, "…you. But I feel that if we are to have any sort of future… us… you need to be a lot more forthcoming." She waited a beat. "A _lot_ more forthcoming."

He turned on his side and looked into her eyes. "You're right," he said, holding her gaze. "I suppose I am naturally given to secrecy, and I should not keep secrets from you. I have done a lot of things I'm not really proud of, and I don't like sharing it all. But I will try to answer all your questions honestly, and I will try to tell you what you need to know without you having to ask first."

Killian laid back with Emma in his arms, thinking. "I don't know what my number is. I honestly don't. But even a quick mental breakdown would put it much higher than I'm willing to say. If you think about, over 200 years – ish - and say only 5 per year, that's already breaking 1,000 and more than I'm comfortable copping to. I tended not to like sleeping with a woman more than once unless I was in love with her, and I've only ever been in love with Milah, and you."

Emma closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the mattress. "I'm not sure I actually wanted an answer on that one anymore," she admitted. "I will try to be more careful what I ask."

They lay next to each other for a while, without him offering up any further information.

Finally she prodded: "I need to know about Camelot. Who was your mother? What did she tell you of Camelot? What is your family connection there?"

"Right… of course. My mother was a noble woman. She came from a wealthy family, but fell in love with my entirely unsuitable sailor of a father, who came from this little town," he gestured to the window. "He brought her here when she married him. She had Liam here. But when she was pregnant with me, she decided to leave him. She packed up Liam and ran back to Camelot. So I was born there. He dragged her back not long after I was born, so I remember precisely nothing of Camelot. I have no memory of Arthur, not even of hearing his name. Liam may have known more. He kept journals from the time he was very young, and I still have them… stored carefully back in Storybrooke, and no use to us whatsoever."

"Did any other members of you mother's family come to this town? Was she alone?"

"Ahhh… yes. There was an aunt. Aunt Mairead. She had a family of her own here. My cousins. God, there were dozens of them, or seemed like. She would have taken me in, certainly, had my father deigned to abandon me here and not dropped me off in some unknown hovel."

"Your father sounds like a piece of work," Emma said.

"Ha! My father was a faithless bastard who treated my mother terribly and Liam and I even worse. Liam always said we had a sister, too, older than him, but that my mother… Oh!" Killian sat up, suddenly clear-eyed and full of nervous energy. "Of course. Liam said he thought we had a sister, not that Liam ever knew her, she was long gone by the time he could remember anything. I never knew if that was fact or fiction, and my mother and father certainly never mentioned her. But if my mother sent her away, it would make sense that she sent her to her own family, in Camelot."

"Would Mairead's family know of her?"

Killian shrugged. "I don't know why they would. This was a couple of centuries ago, and the connection is pretty slim. Still, we could ask around."

Emma stood up and stretched. "Hey, pirate, want to show me around the great metropolis of… what is this town called anyway?"

"Cath Harbour," he said.

"Cath like Catherine?"

"No, cath roughly translates as battle."

"Oh." Much like hers, little about Killian's childhood felt very good. He'd had family, but it had done him little good, and a mother, who had died before he really knew her. "Let's go see the town, then."

Killian laughed. "That should take us all of 10 minutes. But, yes, milady, let us explore the great metropolis of Cath Harbour. It's at least a market day, and we can stock up with some food."

Emma smiled, pulling her cloak over the turquoise dress that the fairies' sacred tree had chosen for her. It was a warm enough day out, but the breeze off the ocean would blow right through her in a sleeveless dress.

They took off along a path that led along the cliff edge, then switchbacked down to the village beneath. Emma held onto Killian's arm, and thought of how carelessly they had been walking down the main street of Storybrooke when the ground quite literally fell away under them. It had been almost four weeks now. What must Henry think? Her parents? Had Regina figured out that Merlin opened the portal?

The market square was crowded with merchants and shoppers. Killian explained that the market happened twice a week when he was boy, and apparently still drew people from surrounding towns and villages, as the numbers swelling the square were far greater than Cath's total population.

Killian started over to the sea-edge of the square, remembering Mairead's house standing with one set of windows to the square and the other to the sea. He tried to remember which house, hunting for any clues at child-eye level that might spark a memory. A stall-owner saw him looking, and Killian fell into a friendly conversation, hoping to turn up clues about his long-ago family connections. Killian angled himself so that he could still follow Emma's movements as she browsed through the market. He saw that her bright blond head had stopped at a stall near the farthest edge of the market, and could see her chatting with the woman behind the counter.

The stall-owner identified the house for Killian. The merchant knew a story of two brothers, both Jones, who had married women from Camelot, long ago. Mairead was not his mother's sister by this account, but Mairead's husband was his uncle by blood. The tall, elegant house on the market square was still owned by a family named Jones.

Killian thanked the man for the information, and cast his eyes across the square to find Emma. She was no longer at the fruit stall, the woman there now talking to new customers. His eyes grazed over a grid around that stall, trying to find her. No blond head, no bright cloak, no hint of a sea-coloured dress anywhere.

It took less than a minute for Killian to realise that Emma was missing.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Trigger warning: description of attempted rape. Violence. I'll confine it to this chapter, so you can skip it if you prefer._**

Emma bought some cheese and fruit from a woman at a stall at the very back of the market. They had laughed and joked together, and Emma was allowing herself to think cheery thoughts, that she would try to come to this stall every week, build up a relationship with the woman. Maybe she could make a friend. She wanted to learn something of this place that Killian had been a part of, that had somehow helped to shape him. She was swinging the basket from her arm, smiling to herself and searching vaguely for Killian, when she felt the pinprick of a blade against her throat and a filthy hand across her mouth.

The man shoved and dragged her into a small alleyway off the market. She could hear loud conversations at the market stalls, the safety of the townfolk only a few short metres away. But here, in the alley, he had her isolated and afraid. She couldn't see Killian. She couldn't see anyone but this stranger, filling her vision and invading her space. He was pressing against her, one of his large hands was pulling at her dress and shoving aside her cloak. His fingernails dug into her arm.

"Don't you look an exotic little surprise?" he hissed. "I might take you home afters, have you a few more times."

"Keep that knife on 'er," she heard a second voice, also a man, and tried to turn towards it. The knife pressed more sharply into her neck. "Arthur said she's got magic, but she can't use it if we get some of that potion into her blood."

Emma's heart beat faster and she fought the icy feeling in her veins that tamped down her magic with panic and haze. She tried to think clearly, to muster her force, to summon her magic. But as the knife bit into her neck a bit more, she felt it fade away, draining out with the trickle of blood that ran down her throat. The knife had some sort of poison on it, and it was causing her vision to blur. She fought to keep herself alert and calm. If she could get rid of the man with the knife, she might have a chance.

One of the men was pulling up her skirt, gripping her thighs so tightly that she could feel bruises forming. She tried to kick him away. She kneed him once beneath his chin, but that only made him grip her more harshly. The other man brought the knife down to the tops of her breasts, above the line of her dress, leaving a few small cuts there to soak the potion into her bloodstream.

"We need to get her to Arthur. It's a long ride," said the man with the knife. "Come on with you. You can tie her down later, when we break for camp."

"A moment, lad. I just want a little taste of 'er…"

Emma didn't hear the rest. She felt the knife fall away and clatter to the ground. The man who had held it stuttered and choked. She saw blood well up in his mouth and he stumbled a step back from her, yanked away by the dagger that was buried in the muscle and sinew of his thick neck. She recognised the carved handle of the dagger as Killian's.

Emma felt the stranger's hands slide off her, dragging down across her breasts, across her hips, as he slid to the littered ground of the alley. Killian hauled him backwards, keeping the blood off Emma. Killian stepped to the side before he pulled out the dagger, the practiced move of a man aware that removing the blade would let blood shoot out to the side. Emma tried to hold herself up against the alley wall, tried to kick again at the man kneeling in front of her, but the poison was pulling her downwards. Her vision started to blacken, and her last thought as she lost consciousness was that Hook would destroy these men for what they had done and what they had intended doing.

…

One minute to lose track of her, and another six before he located her: adrenaline sped him past panic and straight into hunting mode. Anything could happen in 7 minutes. He did not run frantically around the market; he did not draw attention to himself. He found a pile of boxes that afforded a clear view of the entire market square. He spent the first minute scanning for Emma; she was gone. He spent the next minute locating every possible exit and alleyway. Then he began a systematic search of each possibility.

He found her in a dark, narrow passageway behind the furthermost part of the market. He saw the blade against her throat and a man's hands under skirt. He saw blatant fear and he saw tears. One man, the one with the knife to her jugular, had his back to Killian. With no hesitation, he drove his dagger deep into the man's body, just inside the collarbone. He sliced his blade along, making sure to sever the major arteries so that there was no chance of survival. As Killian cut in, he dragged the man's body away from Emma with the blade, to avoid the man collapsing on her and spilling his blood across her.

The second man was on one knee in front of Emma, his hands high up her skirt. Killian put his boot into the man's chest with full force. The man's head hit the stone wall of the passageway with a sickening crack. Killian grabbed the head by both ears and twisted until he heard the spine snap.

Killian ran his blade across the man's trousers to clean it, then slipped it back into his boot. He cleaned the blood off his hands the same way. Emma had collapsed against the wall. He scooped her up in his arms and swept her out of the alley, through the back streets and away from the town centre. A few streets safe away, he set her back down, and revived her enough that with his arm around her waist to support her, he could guide her back up the road to the clifftop.

He said nothing to her until they were back inside the villa, the door locked securely behind them, and he was assured that no one was following him. He took off her cloak and checked her for serious injury. The rivulet of blood on her neck had begun to dry, as had the cuts on her breasts. He sat her in one of the armchairs near the fire. He took off his jacket and saw some blood had seeped into the edges of his shirt sleeve. He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it on the fire. Killian washed his hands at the pump in the bathroom, then pulled on a clean shirt. He brought out some clean linen, soap and water to wash out her cuts.

Emma was breathing heavily when he returned, panting slightly with delayed panic. He picked her up, slid into the armchair himself and then pulled her into his lap. She curled up against him and finally let the dam of her fear and revulsion burst, and she began sobbing into his chest. Killian held her close and stroked her hair and back until she cried out the fright and anger.

"Are they dead?" she managed, at last.

"Yes," Killian said softly. He breathed in and then out again, waiting for that to sink in. Then he asked, as directly and unemotionally as possible, "What did they do? Tell me now; it will be harder for you to talk about this later if we don't talk now."

Emma shuddered in his arms, and tears started welling up in her eyes again. "He had a knife to my throat; they knew about my magic. They said Arthur told them. The knife was dipped in some sort of potion or poison that blocked my magic."

Killian's jaw twitched involuntarily. The anger that he had been holding back for her sake felt ready to explode; he wanted to kill the men all over again. But this was not about him; he was not the target of the aggression. He shoved his reaction down so deep that all that was left on his face was concern for her.

"You did the right thing," Killian soothed. "You're still here, so you made the right choices."

Emma exhaled and nodded, she cuddled a bit more snugly into his arms. He willed himself not to stiffen, not to react, no matter what she said next.

"He was grabbing at me, digging into my thighs, but you … you killed him before anything much could happen," she said quietly.

Killian nodded. "Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?"

"Only a bit. The cuts, and there will be bruises," she said, her voice nearly whisper by now. "He knew of Arthur. He knew Arthur wanted me. He said he was going to hand me over, after he was done with me."

Killian blew out the breath he had been holding and he couldn't help it, he sat her back a bit and took her face in his hands. "I am so sorry, Emma. I am so sorry that I lost track of you. I am so sorry that this happened and that he touched you and that you were frightened." He drew another breath. "I underestimated the danger… again. First the portal and now this."

Emma shook her head. "Please don't blame yourself for this," she settled her hand over his heart. "I'd like a bath. I want to get his residue off of me. Just run some cold water; I'll try to use magic to heat it. See if it's working."

Killian kissed her, pressed his forehead to hers and then got up and did as she asked. She followed him to the bathroom, now stripped of mod cons but still in possession of a water pump and a tub. He filled the tub and then helped her out of her dress. He could see finger-shaped bruise marks on her thighs, and it made him want to punch through the wall. _Not about me_ , he repeated to himself in his head.

Holding his hand, she willed back enough magic to heat the water warm enough for a soak. She climbed in, sank back and let him run soap over her hair and her cuts, removing the blood and dirt. She tried to square the image of Killian in Storybrooke, laughing with her parents over dinner, taking Henry sailing and walking her down the street, with Hook killing those two men brutally and without question. If the situation had been reversed, she would have done the same, she knew. It's not like his moral compass was pointing a different direction than hers. If those men had escaped with their lives, they would have brought Arthur to their doorstep in hours or days.

She coaxed Killian into the bath with her. She could see droplets of blood on his face, blood on his trousers. They washed each other down, until all the blood and sweat and dirt were gone. Then they curled up under the covers of their big bed. They were both still processing what had happened, what they should do now, what this meant for them. Emma didn't want their thoughts to take them in different directions, so she started talking.

"What are we going to do about Arthur?" Emma asked.

"Arthur sent those two rapists after you," Killian said. "We are going to find him and destroy him."

It was Captain Hook's answer. She hesitated. _Hook and Killian aren't different people,_ she told herself _. Killian is Hook; Hook is Killian_. "We don't know what Arthur wants. We don't know that those two were following his orders as he issued them."

"If I gave an order to attack another ship, my men would know that any attempt to force themselves on a woman they found on it – it would be death. I would eviscerate rapists on the deck of my ship, to set that rule in stone and fear. That one rule, they would never disobey. Arthur should control his agents in the same way. If he doesn't, then he is to blame for their actions."

"I need to think that over tonight," Emma answered cautiously. Killing still bothered her, made her think they should find another way.

"All right, love. We can continue that discussion tomorrow. We'll form a plan together," he agreed. "I still have some old family connections here. We need to establish a network, people we trust, who can look out for us, inform for us."

Now, that was a Killian answer. Emma knew she had to stop thinking in a dichotomy. She would work on that tomorrow as well.


	6. Chapter 6

Three things were clear to Killian in the pre-dawn of the next day: Arthur's network ran deeper and wider than he had previously thought, he needed help to find out the king's motives and methods and he hated the Enchanted Forest more with each passing moment they were trapped there. Now Killian wanted to pack up Swan and Henry and take them to New York, to a land without magic and monsters. He had said as much to Swan the night before, and she had laughed that anyone considered New York City to be a safe haven of limited criminality.

But Swan's initial optimism had faded as well, as the situation grew ever more complex and no way back presented itself. They needed Arthur to unblock the path back to Storybrooke, or they needed to find a work-around. He sat back in bed, quietly plotting, with Emma curled up around him.

Killian heard footsteps approaching the villa across the rough gravel of the cliff path. He slipped out of bed and tugged on his trousers. He leaned over Emma, kissing her to wake her, whispering in her ear to stay silent, not speak. She was awake in an instant, throwing on the shirt and trousers he handed her, grabbing her blade from the spot under the pillow where she kept it overnight.

The tentative knock on the door surprised them. They were fully prepared for an attack. Instead, a cheery voice called out to them, "Good morning in there! Sorry for the early call, I know it's barely light, but I needed to talk to you before my husband was out of bed. And he's up with the sun."

Emma secured her dagger into the back of her trousers. Whoever this was, they sounded genuine to her ears, and would have no idea about the attack yesterday, or why she and Killian were feeling jumpy and defensive.

She stood up and arranged her hair a bit with her fingers. She threw Killian a questioning look before she opened the door, fearing he may run through anyone who stood there before she could find out their business. He nodded and stood back from the door, still positioning himself where he could strike if necessary.

Emma cracked the door open with the most carefree smile she could muster.

"Oh, there you are," said a smiling young woman. Emma took her in: blonde hair pulled back in functional plaits, a nondescript, woollen dress under a light cloak to keep out the morning chill. She looked a bit winded from her trek up the cliff path. She carried a small basket, which she offered to Emma across the threshold. "I'm Oona Jones. I'm looking for my… well, I don't know what he is, actually. A relative of some sort. Killian Jones."

Emma smiled and stepped back a pace, sweeping the woman inside. "Please come in," she said graciously, using her foot to nudge Killian back from his defensive position. He sighed and slipped his dagger back into place at his hip. "Look, Killian," Emma grinned at him, "your family has come calling."

Emma led Oona to a seat by the fire. "I'll get us some tea," she said, fascinated by the sudden appearance of someone claiming Killian as kin. Killian stretched out his hand in greeting and sat across from the young woman. He said nothing, just sort of humphed something that could pass for 'morning' if you were feeling charitable. Oona was.

"So, I'm Oona," she repeated herself nervously. "One of the market traders mentioned meeting you yesterday, that you were looking for the Jones house on the square." Killian nodded, still watchful, and she continued in a rush: "Aye, well, my husband is Mac Jones, and he owns the house. The merchant said you were looking for the family…" Here she stopped and began the ties of her cloak around her fingers, winding and unwinding them to soothe her nerves. Killian continued to give her nothing more than a questioning stare.

Emma set a cup of tea in front of Oona, then walked up to Killian and kicked him hard in the shin.

"Bloody... _Swan_ ," he swore, reaching down to rub his leg. "What the hell, woman?"

"Manners, Jones," she retorted. "Oona's come all the way up here on cold morning, just to welcome your sorry self to the family, and you're staring at her like she might turn vicious at any moment."

Oona giggled, instantly relaxed, and picked up her tea. She moved her fingers around it to take the coldness out of her limbs. Emma sat on the low table next to Oona's chair and turned the full megawatt of her smile on their guest.

"Oona, we did hope that Killian might still have family here. So does Mac think they might be related?"

"Aye, they certainly are related. Killian and Liam Jones, they were the sons of Mac's great, great grandfather's brother. I suppose Killian here must be descended from one of those boys? I guess he and Mac are cousins of a distant sort," she smiled hopefully.

Killian sucked in a breath at the casual mention of his brother's name. He seemed to have missed Oona's implication that he could not possibly still be alive.

Emma explained gently: "No, Killian here is that same Killian. He's been a long time in another realm, one where time works differently."

"Oh, of course," Oona nodded eagerly. "You must have been in Camelot with Mairead, after your own mother died."

Killian felt a second knife twist into his heart. He knew that Oona must consider all of this ancient history, and she meant no harm with her blunt talk of his dead mother and brother. Honestly, it was ancient history even for him, but somehow still absolutely fresh, as well.

"No," he found his voice. "I've not been in Camelot. So did Mairead return to Camelot, then, after my mother died?"

"Yes, she looked for you boys, but your father had taken you away. She never found you," she answered. Killian thought briefly of David and Mary Margaret and their obsession with always finding their family members. Clearly, the Jones family lacked the Charmings' cohesiveness. Oona continued: "So when her own children were grown, Mairead returned to Camelot, to find Kerry."

"Kerry?" Emma asked. "Who was she?"

"Killian and Liam's sister," Oona replied. "Your mother gave birth to her in Camelot, just like she did you, Killian. But your mother left Kerry behind when your father fetched her back to the Enchanted Forest. Your father would not consent to having his son stay behind… but your mother made sure he let the daughter go free."

Killian sat blankly, his face a mask. Even Emma could not read his thoughts. Everything she learned about his background just got worse, more painful, with each revelation.

"Mac knows that Arthur is sniffing around for news of you. He knows Arthur is dangerous," Oona looked thoughtful. "He's furious that all of that Camelot… I don't know… a connection to Camelot that we thought was long buried with your mother… that it's all back and present. I know time in Camelot runs differently, that's how Arthur is still here now."

Oona stopped for a moment. She realised now that Killian had only a very small part of the picture.

"I'm really sorry to say this to you, but Kerry…" Oona trailed off. "Arthur killed her," she said softly. "Your mother placed her trust in keeping Kerry safe from your father and leaving her in Camelot. But Arthur wanted you all dead. I don't really know why. Once Kerry died, your father hid you and Liam away so Arthur couldn't find you."

Killian chewed his lip. 'Hid away' sounded so much nicer than 'abandoned on a ship thousands of miles from home'. Emma thought that the parallels she had always seen between her upbringing and his were suddenly even more starkly defined: he had also been abandoned to save him from a tyrant of a monarch who wanted him dead. Still wanted him dead.

"Arthur was never after me," Emma breathed, looking at Killian. "That's why he sent those thugs. I was just bait, to draw you out in the open."

Oona set her empty teacup on the table next to Emma and stood up. "I ought to be going. I've only said things that will upset you," she patted Killian's shoulder. "I'm sorry to bring all of this bad news to your door. But I knew that Mac would bury that stubborn head of his in the sand rather than tell you what you needed to know." She gave Emma an affectionate hug. "Please come down to dinner tonight. That's why I came, to invite you. Mac does want to meet you, Killian; he does want to help," Oona urged, "We are family and we will keep you safe."

Emma saw Oona out as Killian sat brooding by the hearth. She shut the door and pulled the second chair right up to Killian's, then reached across and threaded her fingers into his.

"Talk to me, please," Emma said.

"You going to kick me again if I don't?" he accused.

Emma pulled on his hands to get him to look her in the eye. "No kicking, I promise. Just, please, please, talk to me."

Killian let out a breath. "Let's recap what we've learned thus far. Arthur appears to want me dead, for reasons unclear, and is quite happy to kill you to get me. He murdered a sister – who I didn't even know I had - and would have killed Liam and I as children if my father hadn't taken the unconventional step of abandoning us on board a ship mid-ocean when I was 5. My mother, dead by what means we still don't know, was apparently busy trying to hide us from the wrong man. Furthermore, this story slightly recasts the tale of my father as villain and my mother as angelic saint."

Emma reflected on that for a moment, then slipped in, "You're leaving out the part where you discovered some family as well. And they want to help. They want to meet you tonight."

Killian raised an eyebrow at her. "Liam aside, my family has not traditionally been all that helpful to me. Indeed, they seem to be the reason Arthur wants to kill us both."

"Arthur dragged you here from another realm, one where you posed no threat to him that we can see. We can't just run back to Storybrooke. We could magic the villa somewhere more secluded, but then what? Live out our lives in secret, never getting back to my family? Let's meet Mac and find out what he knows," Emma said.

Killian nodded in agreement. The path seemed clear to him: find a way to kill Arthur and ask questions later. And Mac might be able to help with that.

…

Armed with swords and hidden blades, Killian and Emma waited until just after sunset to walk back down the cliff path to Mac and Oona's house on the square. They moved as inconspicuously as they could, looking out for any signs that more of Arthur's thugs were in town.

Oona paced behind the front door, waiting for them to arrive. Now that word was out about Killian and Emma, it was only a matter of time before the wrong ears heard and galloped off to Arthur. Mac came up behind her and pulled her into him.

"You're going to wear out the rug, Oona. Quit your fidgeting," he told her. "They probably just waited until sunset to travel down."

"Mac, we have to convince them to stay here. It's not safe out there on their own," she implored.

"Aye, well, the clann are all here and we'll have it out at dinner. We can't force Killian one way or the other," he answered. They heard a step on the landing, and Oona jumped into action.

Killian had barely touched the door to knock when Oona swung it open and pulled them both inside. Emma stumbled over the doorstep and Killian caught her, as Oona clicked shut deadbolt locks across the door. "I didn't know if you'd come," Oona gushed. She shoved forward a tall man with dark brown hair and unmistakeable blue eyes. "This is Mac," she said.

Emma smiled to herself. They didn't really look alike, Mac and Killian, but there was an undeniable resemblance. Mac was taller and bigger – half a mountain of a man – and his hair was a shade or two lighter, but the shape of his face, his nose, his eyes… Emma could see the family connection. Killian and Mac fell into conversation straight away, and they seemed to even share a few mannerisms. So when Oona led her into the large dining room, she was not prepared for what confronted her: a table full of blue-eyed men, all looking at her like an alien had landed in their midst.

Oona waved her hand at the table. "Mac has seven brothers," she explained. Most of them had much lighter hair, almost blond, but Emma shuddered at the genetic dominance in this family of eye colour. And it was the exact same eye colour as Killian's, not an iota of difference. Also, Mac appeared to be the youngest and the runt of the litter, for as they stood up to greet her, Emma felt dwarfed by the men. Blonde little Oona, who was even shorter than Emma, looked like a fairy next to them.

Emma side-stepped out of the dining room and silently came back to stand next to Killian. She had a look on her face that made him stop mid-sentence in his conversation with Mac. "You all right, Swan?"

Emma wordlessly pulled him towards the dining room. He nearly burst out laughing at the sight.

"It seems you have your own private army at your disposal," Emma murmured.

Oona and Mac made introductions that flew over Emma's head. Platters of food were passed around, with she and Oona barely making a dent in the provisions. The men ate enormous quantities of potatoes and chicken and vegetables, the cooks bringing out fresh platters as soon as one was scraped clean. The testosterone in that room almost choked her. Killian was loving it, all of them drinking and toasting in a language she didn't understand or realise that Killian spoke. It was like they had found another brother in him. They were all drunkenly swearing allegiance to each other before the main course had been cleared away. Emma vowed to hold this evening over his head the next time he wavered over a dinner round David and Mary Margaret's.

Oona seated Emma next to her. They listened to as much male bonding as they could take before Emma turned to her and asked, "Is it always like this? Are you the only woman in the family?"

Oona laughed. "No, but my sisters-in-law are no fools. They knew what this would be. They'll be over after dinner, when they men have all been fed into a stupor and have stopped shouting at each other with quite such enthusiasm."

Mac was suddenly calling across the table at the women, his arm slung around Killian's shoulders. "That's settled then, Oona my love. Killian and Emma will stay here with us, where we can watch over them."

Emma quirked an eyebrow at that one. Killian shifted uncomfortably, knowing that drunkenly accepting a place to stay here without consulting her first was going to cause problems. Oona got in there first, glancing at Emma anxiously, "Of course you don't need to make a decision about that right now," she patted Emma's hand. "I was just so worried about you two up there all alone, with no family to help you."

Emma softened immediately. It sounded exactly like the sort of thing David and Mary Margaret would say. "Of course we'll stay, that is really kind of you," Emma smiled.

As promised, the sisters-in-law descended after dinner, bringing Emma clothes and dressing her up like a medieval Barbie doll, all corsets and plunging necklines, trying out different styles and colours to decide what to have made for her. They no-shit, actually braided her hair. Emma felt like she was 12 and having the sort of sleepover no one had ever invited her to. And because Killian's smile was back, had not left his face since entering the dining room, she ran with it. She sat on a cushy sofa surrounded by a group of women and men she had only just met, and who without question or hesitation made her drink spiced wine until she relaxed and called her a name that Killian assured her meant 'sister'.

She and Killian kept looking at each other across the room, two overwhelmed, abandoned orphans being co-opted by people who had so much family that they could not help but share. It felt strange but undeniably wonderful. Most of all, it felt safe.


	7. Chapter 7

Having grown up without a family, Emma had been spared the view that greets her the next morning. The happy scene of the whole clann drinking and laughing and eating far too much has been replaced by bodies everywhere, across the sofas and rugs, two brothers passed out on the dining room table and a chorus of snores.

"Fuck," Killian swore, picking Emma up and gingerly stepping over a couple of the sisters-in-law littering the drawing room floor. "It looks like the Jolly Roger, first night in port after months at sea."

Emma snorted in laughter. "If I had to pick a family for you, this would be it. Drunken and carousing."

He smiled at her. "A family. Tis very odd." He found a cloak and wrapped it around her, stepping out into the garden with her for some much-needed fresh air. They wandered until they found a bench wrapped around an oak tree in the back of the garden. Emma snuggled up to him, her arms around him and underneath his warm coat. He used his nose to tilt her face to his and kissed her, then added: "I miss your Nespresso machine."

"I miss it, too," she sighed, craving expresso now that he had mentioned it. "So did you gather any intel yesterday at dinner or was it all just mindless bonding?"

"Hey, no one's ordering me sea green silk for a dress," he countered. She remembered the sisters-in-law insisting that had been her best colour. She remembered that a seamstress had been sent for immediately to take her measurements. The seamstress had seemed unperturbed at being called out late at night by a group of rowdy, drunken family members who could not wait until tomorrow to order a dress. That sort of thing must happen from time to time in the Jones household.

"They're quite the bunch," she nodded.

"Aye, they are. And they said they had already set up a network of informants in the surrounding towns to let us know about Arthur's movements," he added.

Emma had managed to finesse her hands up under Killian's shirt. She dragged her fingernails lightly down his back and then moved them round to the same thing to his chest. He dropped his head down and caught her bottom lip in his teeth for a fraction of a second, then teased his tongue in between her lips. Emma manoeuvred them around to the back of the tree, so they couldn't be seen from the house. Killian tilted her head to taste more of her mouth. He untied her cloak and dropped it to the ground, then unlaced the blue dress that one of the sisters-in-law had insisted she wear. Emma had left off the corset, so his hands had an uninterrupted path to her breasts. He bundled her back to the oak tree, kissing and licking and biting his way down to a nipple. He tenderly sucked one nipple into his mouth, his other hand stroking her inner thigh. He smiled as slid his fingers against her wetness.

"What is it with you and trees?" Killian wondered, lifting his head from her nipple long enough to ask the question.

"I have an unstoppable desire for you," she replied, "and you just happen to spend a lot of time near trees. Enchanted _Forest_ , clue's in the name."

Killian rubbed his thumb in lazy circles against her clit. She unknotted the laces on his trousers and eased them off him. Breaking away from his touch and his tongue with a smile, Emma dropped down to sit on the bench that wrapped around the tree. She ran her hands up his thighs and he shivered. Gently, she slid her hand up to hold his balls in one hand and gripped his cock with the other. Killian groaned and dropped his head against the bark for support. She licked up and down, then closed her mouth over the head of his cock. She teased him for a while, running her tongue over the sensitive head. Finally she closed her lips over his cock and began to suck, softly at first, then greedily. When she opened to move him to the back of her throat, he wound his hand around her hair and eased her off him. "Get up here, spread your legs," he ordered hoarsely. Emma gave him one last, long lick up his length, curling her tongue around to touch as much of him as she could, and finally leaving him with an appreciative kiss to the tip.

Killian lifted her dress over her head and dropped it next to her cloak on the grass. He lifted her against the tree and she wrapped her legs around his hips, spread as wide as she could. Killian could feel her arousal dripping onto his cock as he lined himself up.

"Take me hard, pirate," she whispered in his ear. Killian moaned and thrust in hard and fast, stilling for just a moment while she shifted the angle. Then he did as she had asked, nailing her fast and solid to the tree. When she began moaning and writhing, and he knew she was close, he demanded, "Touch yourself." Emma moved one hand to her swollen clit.

"Killian, Killian, Killian," she panted, and he was hitting her g-spot with every thrust. "Don't scream, love, you don't want to wake the whole clann," he warned in a low voice that suggested he was still in a surprising amount of control. Emma lost hers completely, and she opened her mouth against his jaw as she came, stilling her cries into his scruff, her muscles clamping down on his cock. He snapped in an instant, emptying himself into her as she came down from her high.

"Oh, God, Emma," he kissed her again, regaining his senses. "I love you so much."

Emma grinned. "I love you, too," she laughed. "But I already know that, look, we're actually glowing a bit." She held up his hand between their faces. Somehow the fairies' true love detector had not quite worn off. "Still, I like hearing you say it."

"Are we going to keep glowing every time we make love?" he asked.

Emma eased her legs back onto the bench, and he handed her back her dress. She shrugged. "Maybe it's a tree thing."

They put their clothes back on and slumped back under the tree, until they had caught their breath and the glow had settled to an almost imperceptible level.

Killian straightened her clothing and retied her cloak. She buttoned his shirt back up and then his waistcoat. They crept back through the garden and into the house. As they entered, one of the brothers on the dining room table turned to Killian, not bothering to lift his head from the wood as he spoke. "I hope you're going to marry the girl after that display, cousin," he said, raising an eyebrow to punctuate his statement. "Maybe it's not traditional in the world where you've been living, but here we don't in for quite so much screaming outside wedlock."

Emma didn't miss a beat. "I thought I kept it pretty quiet for once," she answered, straight-faced. "Killian usually has me screaming way louder than that for him." And with that she sashayed slowly out of the room.

"That one there's a keeper, cousin," he laughed. "Get a ring on that finger before she gets away."

Killian laughed uncomfortably, trying to imagine Swan going from a hard-won admission of love to a marriage proposal in a week. It seemed unlikely.

…

The rest of the house started to wake slowly, buzzing around each other carefully, nursing a mass hangover. Mac and his brothers reassembled at the dining room table with Emma and Oona and Killian, to discuss the way forward with Arthur.

"Why is he trying to take out that side of the Jones family then? You must be some sort of threat to him," Mac surmised.

Oona had to clear her throat several times before the men took any notice of her. Emma finally whistled and they shut up. She nodded towards Oona.

"The answer has to lie with Killian's mother and father," Oona said. "Something was going on there, and the only surviving member of the family was too young to remember what it might be. Did Liam ever speak about it?"

Killian shook his head. "Liam didn't really know what was going on either, and it probably all seemed moot when we were left to fend for ourselves on a naval vessel after dear Da disappeared," he said. "There may be information in his journals, but those are back in Storybrooke."

They all agreed that come what may, they needed to set up a protective defence against Arthur. They would kill Arthur if it came to it, rather than surrender Emma and Killian. They would assemble a fighting force as quickly as possible and arm themselves. Emma could cast a protection spell on Oona and Mac's house. If Arthur brought a war to the clann, the clann would fight back.

…

David and Mary Margaret dug through Emma's boxes again in the loft, while Will and Belle ploughed through Killian's stuff in his room at Granny's. It had been a month since their daughter disappeared with the pirate, and they were no closer to an answer. Regina had been able to identify that they had gone through a portal, and that the portal had been opened from the other side, but she didn't know who opened it, or why, or where to. Whoever did it had covered their tracks.

"We have been over everything they own three times in the last month. There's no clues," David kicked at a door in the loft.

Mary Margaret heard a knock at the door. She trudged down the stairs to answer it, and to give herself some space from her husband's pent-up frustration. Standing before her was Smee, red cap in his hand and three boxes at his feet. Mary Margaret raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Smee? What are you doing here? Did you hear something about Killian?"

"No, ma'am, sorry. We've been hunting for any trace of the Captain, but nothing's turned up. We did find these, though. He'd stored them in my quarters when he traded away the Jolly Roger. I'd forgotten all about them." Smee nodded to the boxes at his feet. "I've kept them all this time. I don't know, maybe something in here will help?"

"Smee," Mary Margaret beamed at him. "Thank you. We'll go through everything straight away."

Smee nodded and backed towards the stairs. "Just let me know if I can help with anything," he called back, halfway down the stairs by the time he finished his sentence.

"David," Mary Margaret yelled up the stairs to the loft. "Call Belle and Will to come over. Smee's found some boxes of Killian's. Looks like a lot of books and journals."

Within half an hour, the four of them were sitting in Mary Margaret and David's living room, reading endless journal entries in Liam's elegant script. Mostly they had to do with the running of the ship, accounts, the crew, their orders. But Liam sometimes talked about his background and family, or about Killian. Most of the entries were overflowing with Liam's love and pride for his little brother. The journals began when Killian was only 10, and Liam was a young naval officer. All but Will felt a bit unsure about reading through such personal information. Will only saw it as an opportunity to bait the pirate on his return.

After hours of reading, the four compared notes. Several names came up more than once, but one came back with menacing frequency whenever Liam wrote about his family: Arthur of Camelot. Belle put it together first. Liam wrote out the history of his family in bits and pieces, but there was enough to establish that his mother had been born to a noble family in Camelot, and that Killian had been born there, though raised in the Enchanted Forest. Liam told the story of a sword that was supposed to unite the Kingdom of Camelot under Arthur, but that Arthur had never found. He had heard rumours that his mother knew of the sword and had, in her youth, some sort of relationship with the sorcerer who guarded the blade, Merlin.

After hours of notes and discussion, Belle distilled this: "Somehow Camelot, and Arthur, are important to Killian's family. And somehow they managed to travel back and forth between Camelot and the Enchanted Forest without too much bother. Killian's mother may have had access to the sword that Arthur wanted desperately and never found."

David banged the table. "This makes no sense. What would Arthur want with Killian? He knew nothing of this; he was only a tiny boy when his father abandoned him. Even Liam didn't know much," he argued.

"But if Arthur has the sorcerer, then he could have opened up a portal like the one Regina described," Mary Margaret replied. She reached out for David's arm. "He could have pulled Emma and Killian into Camelot. Or into the Enchanted Forest, and then into Camelot from there."

Belle nodded. "We need to get to Camelot. It's the best lead we have, and we won't find any more answers from here."

"All right then," Will stood up, slapping his leg in resolution. "Let's go find the Evil Queen and make whatever unholy deals we need to to open a portal and get some answers."

With that, they headed down the stairs in search of Regina and Henry.


	8. Chapter 8

Regina said she could do it, and she had done it. She had been working to reverse the impossible, the portal that took Emma and Killian away. So when the Charmings and Belle asked her to open a simple portal to Camelot, it took her only two days to conjure a way. Will agreed to go with them, but the Charmings wanted Regina to stay in Storybrooke, protecting Henry and Roland and the town. They didn't know what the threat to the town might be, but someone had been able to reach into Storybrooke and steal away the Saviour and Hook.

Belle packed her notes and two of Liam's journals into Hook's satchel and slung it over her shoulder. Regina took them into her impossibly green garden, just past the apple tree, and opened the portal. Henry rushed forward to David, gripping his tight around the waist. "Please give this to my Mom," he said, pushing an envelope into David's hand, "and tell her that I love her."

"Henry, of course I will, and she already knows that," David hugged the boy tightly. "We will find her and bring her home."

Mary Margaret kissed Henry, wiping away his tears with her fingertips, and gave him a gentle shove towards Regina and safety. Regina put her arms around Henry, and they watched as the four explorers dove one by one into the portal. It snapped shut behind them, the grass unblemished. Regina and Henry held hands and walked forlornly over the spot where the portal had been.

"Good luck," Regina whispered, and Henry started to cry in earnest.

…

Killian lay awake that night, in a soft, enormous bed on the 3rd floor of Mac and Oona's elegant house. Life on a pirate ship, and a childhood spent fighting for survival, meant he had become something of an expert at mentally sifting through noises in the night, which were harmless and could be disregarded, even in an unfamiliar place.

With Emma naked and sleeping across his chest, he had listened all night to the snores and whispers and footfalls of the household, to the creaks and groans of the floorboards and walls, the click of locks, the rain and wind against the windowpanes. A clock downstairs had registered 2am not long before.

So he knew in his bones that the noises he heard now meant trouble, something come to harm Emma or his new-found family. He gently turned Emma onto the bed and kissed her awake.

"Love, wide awake now," he said with authority. He needed her up, dressed and armed before whatever approached the house now was upon them.

He crept out of bed and pulled on his clothes, tugged on his boots and grabbed his sword. He checked to make sure the dagger was still in his boots.

"Emma," he repeated, all business. She slipped out of bed and into her clothes at his word. He quietly tossed her a sword and motioned for her to stay still. Emma listened, but she couldn't hear what he did.

Killian pulled her over to him, to move her away from the front of the door and out of the line of fine from the window. She had just been snuggled in bed, warm and relaxed and sated, and she struggled with the disconnect of suddenly having him hold her for reasons other than love or sex. He was holding her now for strategic reasons.

"There are five or six of them," he said, "all near the bottom of the house, beneath our window. We don't have time to warn the others. They are going to break…"

He hadn't even finished his sentence when Emma heard the glass shatter. She didn't scream, she kept listening and looking, but she did involuntarily shelter a bit more closely into the arm he still had around her waist. When two men burst through the window a moment later, she was ready with her sword. But Killian struck first, running both intruders through with practiced ease. He had an advantage, as the men could not overwhelm them via the windows.

"Watch the door, more coming up the stairs," Killian told her. He drew in a breath and ran through a third man at the window, booting him back down three floors to the garden below. He hoped that Mac and his brothers were up, and able to fight back. He knew if more men burst through the door, they would struggle to win a fight on two fronts.

Outside the door, Emma heard Mac's family calling, shouting, screaming. She heard the clank of metal and swearing, crying, cursing. She felt horrified. Two men bled out on the floor of the bedroom where Hook ( _Killian, he's Killian_ ) had left them, so close she could smell their deaths, and she knew that it could be Oona downstairs now with a blade through her. Or Mac. Or any of the brothers, or the crazy sisters-in-law. She felt tears start to rise but she shook them away. _Stay sharp_ , she commanded herself.

Killian motioned for her to cover the window while he threw open the door. A hooded man thrust a sword inelegantly at Killian's chest the moment the door swung wide. Killian knocked it away, readied for the next move, but the attacker fell at his feet. As the man fell to the floor, Killian saw Mac shunting his boot on the dying man's shoulder to pull free his blade. Mac wiped spurt of blood from near his eyes and smiled.

"Visitors!" he grinned at Killian. "We do love visitors. My brothers are taking care of the others below."

Emma's attention had been momentarily diverted from the window. That was all it took for another thug to crawl in. He lunged towards Emma, his sword plunging towards her stomach. Killian threw his whole body at the man, pinning him to the ground. Emma wasted no time. She used two hands to lift her sword and make sure her blow was accurate and wouldn't hit Killian instead. She ran the point straight down into the man's neck. She felt the snap as the blade severed the spine at the base of his neck, driving all the way into the floor beneath him.

Killian scrutinised Emma as he stood up. Mac ran to the window to check for more intruders, and gave the all-clear. Killian approached Emma carefully, loosening her grip on the blade. He centred his boot on the dead man's ribs, and removed the sword. Emma stared, transfixed, at the blood pouring out his throat. Killian thought she looked like she was in shock, pale and shaking ever so slightly. He knew she had killed a dragon, had seen her battle witches and monsters, but this was the first time, that he knew of, that she had killed a human being.

Mac seemed to notice, too. "Nicely done, lass," he nodded to her. " 'Twas him or you, or Killian, and you did what needed doing. Let's go downstairs. I think we could all use a drink."

Killian put his hand on her back, and she jumped a bit at the touch. He pressed a bit harder, moving her away from the bodies on the floor and towards the door. He gripped both their swords in his other hand, not entirely certain that the danger had passed. Mac led the way downstairs, past another body on the landing that two of the brothers were heaving towards a window to dump.

Another three attackers had been hauled away from the front of the house, one still alive. One of the sisters-in-law strode purposefully out the door towards the spot where he was tied up in the garden, guarded by another three brothers. She held a kettle of boiling water in her hand. When she saw Emma standing at the door to the kitchen looking shaken, she patted her cheek comfortingly. "We'll get him to talk, don't you worry, lovely," she soothed.

Killian guided Emma into the kitchen, where they found Oona patching up the cut hand of another sister. "Emma! Are you all right?" the sister asked. Emma nodded blankly, looking at the blood on the woman's arm. More blood. "Sure don't you worry yourself," the sister-in-law added. "Tis naught but a scratch."

Oona paused in her doctoring to consider Emma. "She's had a bad fright, Killian," Oona assessed. "Sit her down her by the fire with us and find her a drink." Killian settled Emma into a chair and poured out a glass of sherry from the open bottle on the table. "There now, Emma, you drink up," Oona said softly. "Killian, go ahead out into the garden. The boys will be needing you to … interview… that man."

Killian hesitated. "We've got her. Go ahead and shoo," Oona smiled at him reassuringly.

"Aye. I'll be right outside, love, if you've need of me," he bent down and brushed a small kiss on Emma's cheek. She shuddered.

"Okay, okay, I'm fine, you go ahead," Emma said, as much to herself as to him. In her head, she heard one word on continuous loop: _massacre, massacre, massacre_.

Killian saw some of Emma's walls rise up from the ground where he's shattered them. She was bricking up a distance between them as fast as she could manage it. Maybe best to leave her with Oona for a while, he thought. He sighed and headed out to the garden.

The prisoner sat on a bench, his back tied to a tree and arms bound behind him, his legs spread and secured to opposite sides. Killian pulled up a chair and sat just in front of him.

"What does Arthur want?" Killian looked straight into the man's eyes. "Talk, or you're only going to make this worse."

"He wants you dead," the man spat blood at him.

"And Emma, why did he try to kidnap her?"

"Her – he didn't want her dead. Just said one of us - or better yet all of us – need to fuck her."

Killian drove his blade between the man's legs so fast that even his cousins jumped. He halted the point just above the apex of the man's spread thighs. The prisoner's eyes went wide, then narrowed with contempt. Killian leaned in close and barked, "Speak."

"Didn't want you siring no bastards with 'er," the man sneered. His bravado ended abruptly as Killian's blade edged down over the man's balls. Killian briefly turned this idea over in his head until the truth of Arthur's intent hit him.

"Oh God, I get it. I see what that sick fucker is up to." It's not bastards that worry him, Killian thought, it's legitimacy. All those hundreds of women he'd bedded, and Killian knew it stretched the bounds of reason to think none of his seed had ever hit home. Yet never had Arthur made a move, until Emma, the first unmarried woman with whom he'd ever had an open, acknowledged love affair. Milah had been married, and legally any children she might have had by him would have belonged to Rumplestiltskin, no matter the truth of it.

Killian stood abruptly, letting the blade sink another centimetre as he did so, enough for the man's screams to bounce off the walls of the house. He pushed himself back from the bench, ignoring the tortured shrieking, and looked over at his cousins.

"Kill him as you see fit," Killian said, walking quickly back towards the house. He needed to decide how much of this to share with Emma, if any. She had looked so broken earlier, warrior enough to kill when needed but no ready for the emotional fallout. For Arthur, somehow this was about lineage. He wanted Killian dead, and any children he might have with Emma to be deniable. Arthur had hired men to rape her so that he could deny the paternity of any child that Killian and Emma might conceive. He felt sick. He remembered her tears, her fear and that thug's hands under her dress…

By the time he re-entered the kitchen, Killian just wanted to find a quiet, safe place to sleep the night away with her. Emma might not consider the house safe now, but Killian did. The family had protected them, and he was willing to trust them now.

As soon as he reached the kitchen, he called Oona over. She had finished bandaging her sister-in-law's arm and was busy trying to rouse Emma from her brooding.

"Is there a room – one without blood – where I can take her and get her to rest?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," Oona gave his arm a squeeze. "Get Emma and follow me."

Killian knelt in front of her. It was entirely unlike Emma to look so shaken and frightened. They had faced down monsters and witches, but this attack had thrown her like none before.

"Come along, love," he encouraged her gently, holding out a hand to help her up. "Let's get you back into bed, a bit more sleep. I need the sleep myself," he added.

"Liar," she said, taking his hand and rising out of the chair. "You were awake, waiting for that attack, and you won't sleep now, waiting for the next."

"I will sleep, I promise. I'll work out a watch schedule with the others." He gave a little tug on her hand and she leaned into him. She let him lead her down the hallway and up the stairs after Oona. He left them in the bedroom for a moment and spoke to several of Mac's brothers. Killian would sleep for the rest of the night while they kept watch. Oona said she was keeping watch on that first shift, as well.

Emma and Killian undressed and crawled back into bed, and she found herself in the same position she had been in only hours before the attack, curled naked against him and listening to his heartbeat. Only this time the danger of their situation seeped through everything else she felt for him. The love was edged aside by the overwhelming fear.

Killian could hear bodies being dragged out of doors, the sound of washing as the blood was cleared away and the family reclaimed their home from the slaughter. He tried not to hold Emma too tightly, worried that he would only increase her fear if he betrayed any of his own. He wasn't entirely successful.


	9. Chapter 9

Emma woke early to find Killian – finally – asleep. He looked like Killian when he slept; there was nothing of Hook in his unguarded face. She wouldn't want to erase Hook, but he was erased every time Killian drifted off and reverted back to his first self. She was damned glad of Hook and his paranoia; she was still alive because of it. She knew he'd tortured the prisoner last night, and she hadn't yet asked what information it had yielded. She would ask today. Last night marked officially enough of sitting by while Killian protected her, like the princess she'd never been.

She tried to lift his right arm off of her shoulder; he unconsciously gripped her more tightly and added the left arm as well. She rolled her eyes. Emma strategically shifted downwards, ducking out of his embrace and slipping out of bed. He woke immediately.

"Emma!" he called out, trying to prise open his eyes as his hands blindly searched the bed for her.

"I'm right here," she whispered, hoping a soothing voice might send him back off to sleep. "I'm just going to help out downstairs. Go back to sleep."

He flashed a lazy smile her way, resettled under the blankets, and did as she asked.

Emma wrapped a thick robe around herself and made her way upstairs to their previous bedroom. Someone had already moved the bodies and scrubbed most of the blood off the wooden flooring and rug. She stepped around the stains to the tall wardrobe at the wall. She rummaged through for something to wear, the memory of the women gifting her with clothes nearly wiped out by subsequent events, although it had been less than 48 hours ago. She found the blue dress Oona had chosen for her, washed up and dressed. The minute she arrived in the kitchen, one of the older sisters pulled her into a chair by the fire and starting brushing the tangles out of her hair. Within minutes, it hung in a thick, neat plait down her back.

Emma helped to prepare breakfast, a task involving pots and pans larger than any she'd seen before, in order to cook enough for the whole family. Everyone was camping out at Mac and Oona's place, now, with dozens of family children running about and trusted neighbours brought in to defend the house. Mac walked about with a watch and patrol schedule, and Emma signed up herself and Killian for a patrol after breakfast.

Killian finally appeared an hour later, bathed and dressed and looking as rested as Emma had seen him a long while. She still felt shattered by last night, but the sleepiness kept her from focussing too sharply on what had happened. She preferred it that way. No one here had appointed her Saviour; they all seemed perfectly happy organising their own salvation along with hers. So Emma occupied herself with spooning out porridge for a table of half a dozen under-5s. She resolved to spend the next 24 hours following along with Jones family central planning.

Killian picked up a bowl and sat down on a low stool with the children. He held out the bowl to her with a grin and she ladled in some porridge, raising one eyebrow to communicate that he was on thin ice.

A little girl with bright red plaits looked up at him. "Uncle Killian, Ma says you are sleeping with your Emma," she told him through a mouthful of porridge. Emma nearly dropped the serving bowl in shock.

Killian maintained his composure. "Don't talk with your mouthful, little love," he said, hoping to change the topic.

"Sure my Da says you should marry your Emma," a blond boy of about four explained.

The little girl opened her mouth in an uncomprehending little 'o'. "You and Auntie Emma aren't married?" Her little lip started to quiver. "Does that mean Emma isn't our Auntie?"

"Don't be daft," another little boy cut in. "Course she's Auntie, cuz she's sleeping with Uncle. That's how it works."

"Is not! Da says he has to marry her," said the first little boy.

An argument broke out at this point, with small voices citing 'facts' they had picked up from the adults on the nature of Emma's relationship with Killian: Emma was a princess, Emma was too good for him (Killian made a silent note to figure out which man was that child's father), Killian had been a pirate, Emma needed a ring on her finger (no one was certain what type of ring, and the discussion briefly veered off into ways the children could make a ring for her, if Killian was too mean to give her one himself), and most importantly that Killian had made Emma scream in the garden.

All the little faces looked shocked when the blond boy dropped that bombshell into the conversation. Emma put her face in her hands.

"Uncle Killian, did you make Auntie Emma scream in the garden?" the little red-haired girl asked, looking ready to inflict violence upon him for such a thing. The toddlers at the table looked ready to cry.

"Aye," Killian answered, taking a sip of tea to punctuate his answer. "I did." He raised a suggestive eyebrow at Emma. She just shook her head at him, withdrawing back to the stove a few metres away from the children's table.

The little girl stood up from the table and drew herself up to her full height. She narrowed her little blue eyes, pulled her fist back and hit Killian as hard as she could on his arm. The punch sloshed a bit of his tea.

"Hey, lass, whoa," he caught the little fist before it could connect again. "I wasn't hurting Auntie. Emma was really… happy. You know, like when you scream on Christmas morning. Weren't you, Emma?" Killian looked across the kitchen to her for back-up.

Emma set down the bowl and ladle and found a towel to clean up the tearful toddlers. "Uncle wouldn't hurt me. Of course I was happy. And of course I am your Auntie," she smiled, wiping an angry tear of the girl's face.

"So you are married to Uncle," said the blond boy, looking for confirmation. That kid will be a lawyer, Emma thought to herself.

"No, we're not married," she shook her head gently.

"Why not?" the whole table asked as one.

"Well," she began, flipping through a mental list of at least 100 reasons why she and Killian weren't married, trying to find the most child-friendly one. "Uncle Killian never asked me."

All the little eyes now turned to Killian.

Killian sighed and dropped his spoon into his empty bowl with a loud clatter. He was well and truly backed into a corner now, and there was only one way out. "Emma, my love, will you marry me?" he asked in roughly the same tone he might ask her to pass the salt.

The little girl shook her head furiously and stage-whispered to him. "No, no, you have to kneel down in front of her." Killian rolled his eyes to the ceiling, pushed back his chair and knelt down in front of Emma, who stood in front of him with a toddler on her hip as she tried to clean porridge off the squirming little hands.

"Emma, my love, will you marry me?" Killian looked to the little girl for approval. She nodded her head, red plaits bouncing up and down in her happiness.

Emma set down the toddler and looked at him thoughtfully, hand on her hip. For one brief moment Killian feared that she might be considering it, and that his flippant attempt to placate the children might actually balls up his chances of proposing properly. Someday. "Maybe later," Emma deadpanned. "I'm terrifically busy this month."

Killian exhaled in relief. He shrugged at the children. "See? I tried."

The blond boy patted Killian on the back in sympathy. "She said maybe, not no."

Killian stood and helped Emma clear away the dishes. "We have a patrol now," she told him. "Mac has everyone assigned to safeguarding duties and I signed us up."

"Ah, good, another opportunity to hike through some muddy woods with you," he said.

"We're patrolling the cliffs beyond the villa," she said. "So more open grassland than forest. Still lots of mud, though, if you have a particular interest in that."

Killian ignored her and set off around the house, gathering up weapons and maps of the area, listening to the reports from the watch who had just come back. Oona threw herself into an overstuffed armchair and threw her feet up over one of the arms. She sent one of the children off to fetch her a cup of tea. Oona pulled Emma down into the armchair next to her and recounted her trek around town.

"We found nothing this morning," she told Emma. "The men from last night were foreigners all. The town's awatch for Arthur and his agents now, not that we can count everyone here loyal, but it's a small town to be sure, and hard to hide treachery."

Emma helped to ease Oona's boots off her feet, and a little boy returned with a cup of tea for his auntie. Emma began apologetically, "I feel that we have turned everyone's lives upside down, the whole town, and put you and your family – the family's children – in danger."

Oona cut her off. "You and Killian are family. We would do anything for you two. You mustn't think of yourselves as some sort of bother, or not worth the effort. Mac's ancestors failed to protect Killian – we don't really know why – turfed him out when he was but a babe. He is owed. You are owed."

Killian walked back into the room with their swords and a skin of water. Emma stretched out her hands to him and he tugged her out of the chair.

"Ready for a little stroll, love?" he asked, strapping her sword around her waist. She watched his fingers thread the leather of her belt across the buckle. "Sorry to drag her away, Oona."

"No bother. I'm just considering my options: sleep here or sleep upstairs. I'm leaning towards sleeping where I've fallen," Oona smiled groggily.

Killian and Emma set off, out of the square and along the main road. The road diminished in size and stature until it was nothing more than the path up to the cliffs, clearly not intended for more than single file horse riding, no carriages. The late early autumn sun warmed them both through, and Killian shrugged off his jacket halfway up the path. They twined fingers and treated it as he had suggested, a stroll, more than a watch patrol. They soon gained the summit, and started off in the opposite direction of the villa. Lush grass swayed around them, growing all the way up to the very edge of the precipice, making it look like the meadow continued indefinitely out over the harbour below. The path wandered through the grass and into a woods beyond.

When they entered the cool shade of the wood, Killian let go of her hand and dashed a bit ahead to make sure the way was safe. Evergreen trees scattered off the path, and the few deciduous trees were losing their leaves in a brilliant haze of gold and red. Emma waited on the path, crushing a few fallen, wet leaves under her boot as she thought.

Off to the side of the path, she saw a tree that didn't look like any other in the forest. It was tall and broad, with smooth, white bark and deep-green leaves. She began to wander towards it, almost pulled magnetically. The moment she stood beneath its canopy, she felt a glow intensify around her. A sharpness began pricking under her skin from the magic of the place. Then, an intense wave of pure emotion, positive and humming and free, swept through her.

Emma stopped in her tracks. "Oh my God. Killian!" she pressed her hands against her glowing body. "Killian! Come here. Hurry!" Emma stumbled back slightly, leaning one hand against the tree trunk.

Killian sprinted back as soon as he heard her. He noted the enchanted tree she was leaning against. "What's wrong? What happened?" he called as reached her side. She didn't look injured; she looked utterly blissed-out. God, this woman and her bloody trees.

"This… oh my God… this… just… feel this," she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her, placing his palm flat on her belly.

An indescribable wave of warmth swept over Killian. It made him smile so much that his cheeks burned. He laughed. It felt like endless happiness, soft and safe and so warm. "What…" he pulled Emma up to him, steadying her, as she started to lose her footing again. "What is that?" He was about to ask her what she felt, but she had the same, almost-drugged smile on her face that he did. "It feels like… I don't know… some concentrated kind of love." That sounded stupid. The feeling was being boosted by magic, was somehow tied up in Emma's magic. He was trying to think of how to explain it more clearly, when she cut him off.

"That's conception," she said, her voice full of wonder. "That's the moment of conception. Jesus Christ, Killian. That's our baby. I just know it sure as anything. Don't you?"

They stood together beneath the unnaturally green leaves, Killian holding her close and moving his hand a bit lower down her belly. The warm feeling washed over them both again, hitting them in waves like the tide. He could feel it to, and he knew she was right.

"Yes. I know it, too. That tree," Killian thought back, "that tree the other day. We were glowing after…"

They both dropped to the ground with the news, dumbstruck for a moment. Emma felt the magical happiness pulse like a heartbeat, flowing out of her and into Killian. She knew without looking that they were both glowing now. But while happiness and love overwhelmed every other emotion, her brain kept ticking along behind, refusing to be drugged. A thousand thoughts flicked through Emma's brain, most of them screaming 'too soon' above the others.

Killian could see the doubts starting to cloud her features. He knew he needed to tell her about Arthur, about the threat, about his theories that Arthur believed Killian to a rival for the throne. But he held back, not wanting to put any more negative thoughts into her head, not right now, when they should be joyful and uncomplicatedly happy, if only for a few hours.

He put his hands to her face and pulled her to him, resting his forehead against hers and looking into her eyes. All her thoughts and doubts stilled as Killian spoke. "I am so happy, Emma. I love you, and I love this child, and this child will never, ever know the sort of abandonment we did." Emma felt tears welling in her eyes and nodded. He kissed her passionately, one hand tangled up in her hair and the other still resting possessively on her belly. Emma just kissed him back, not knowing what else to do or to feel.

When they broke apart, he rubbed gentle circles on her belly with his hand. "I still feel the warmth, but not as strongly," he said. "The little one must be settling down."

He felt certain, the baby felt certain. Emma felt overwhelmed, like she might start hyperventilating. She was happy, unbelievably happy, with Killian. She wanted to have his child, no question, she did. They had, after all, been having unprotected sex for the last month. She knew this was a possibility. But like a sharp pain, this made her long for Henry. She wanted to hug him so badly she could almost taste it. Babies were a difficult and dangerous business in her family. And his, too. Abandonment seemed to happen with a dreadful frequency despite the best intentions of the parents.

"Killian, I'm scared," she whispered. "I love you, too, and I love this baby. But even right now someone is trying to kill us, and we don't so much as know why yet."

Killian held her close, wondered if maybe he could just lock them up inside the villa, on a remote mountainside, for the next nine months, while he spent every day keeping her and the baby safe.

"Love, I'm going to go all Mary Margaret on this one, and say we have to have hope," he said. "I know history is against us, but we can make this work. We will get back to modernity, back in time for doctors and medical attention." He kissed her. "Did you feel the life force of this child? It was all joy and hope and perfection. My love, just be happy. No doubts or worries for right now. Just let yourself be happy."

Emma started crying then, the emotional overload getting the better of her. She was still grinning like mad, though, so Killian smiled back and pulled her to her feet.

"I am happy, Killian. I'm so happy. And I love you, too," she pulled his head down to hers, ran her fingers through his hair and met his gaze. She caught his bottom lip in hers and sought out his tongue, tilting his head with her fingers and caressing deeper into his mouth. Killian slid his hands up to her breasts and ran his thumbs over her nipples until they ached. When Emma reached up to tug free the ribbons on her dress, Killian pulled back.

"The villa is less than a kilometre from here. Let's head back to it," he suggested. "We have a couple of hours before we're missed. You can cast a protection spell and we can try to get our head round this in peace and quiet, okay?"

Emma nodded and let him lead the way back their sanctuary. He felt overcome by protectiveness, so when they could see the villa just ahead and he picked her up, bridal-style, Emma didn't struggle or complain. He broke through the door with her still in his arms. With the door shut behind them, he backed her against a wall and brought his lips to hers. He pinned her to the wall with his whole body, wanting to be as close as possible to her right now. Killian pulled his shirt over his head and pried off his boots without breaking contact completely. He had Emma naked with a few pulls at the bodice of her dress, her frock dropping to the ground. He slid one hand under her ass and pulled her up a bit, and her legs wrapped around his hips instinctively. Emma didn't want to wait a second more; she was wet with want of him and he was lined up and waiting. She pulled her legs toward her centre, digging in with her feet, urging him inside.

Killian thrust into his love, one hand on her breasts and the other still gripping and exploring her ass. She spread her thighs wider to take him in deeper, both of them craving the closest possible connection. Killian began to move against her, securing her to the wall. She felt him brushing against her clit and shifting angles to find the spot inside her that would make her see stars. Tension wound within her core and she tilted her head back against the wall, closing her eyes and breathing erratically. He sucked just beneath her jaw, feeling her pulse against her teeth. His cock dragged deliciously through her, building and building her arousal. Killian pounded against her, faster and harder, the pleasure spiking in every nerve ending, her clit so sensitive that the moment he moved his calloused thumb to touch her there, she fell apart in his arms. He kept thrusting fast and deep and hard, she stretched her thighs farther apart, until he came too, pulsing inside her as deep as they could manage.

Killian carried Emma the few steps to the bed and they sank down together, still wrapped up with arms and legs gripping each other tight. They both recognised that the edge of need and desperation they felt was all about fear as much as joy. Slowly they untangled enough for Emma to stretch out next to him in bed, head in its familiar place on his chest, while he stroked her hair.

"You're pregnant," he finally said, still processing the news.

"I know," she agreed, also awestruck. "At least the magical early warning system means we have an extra 5 or 6 weeks of notice to prepare ourselves."

"Do you feel all right?" he thought to ask, suddenly wondering about all the side effects pregnancy was going to have.

"I feel great. I mean, usually symptoms sneak up on you later. It's far too early for me to feel sick. I was sick, though, with Henry. So tired and very ill, for weeks. So that might happen again," Emma ran her hand up and down his bicep. "But in the pantheon of stuff we need to worry about right now, that's nothing much. Horrible, but it passes."

Killian nodded. He thought. But nothing came to him. "You're pregnant," he repeated.

Emma just laughed. "Yeah, let's just lie here and give you a minute. When you've regained the power of rational thought, we can talk."

Killian wrapped his arms around her more forcefully. "You're pregnant."

"I am," she kissed him softly. "I really am." And they just lay there together and thought about that for the rest of the afternoon.


	10. Chapter 10

They were back on the path, headed down into town, with only 15 minutes to go until their scheduled check-in time after patrol. They didn't want the family to fear that something terrible had happened if they were late. If Killian looked so distracted that he could hardly re-tie her dress, Emma chalked it up to impending fatherhood. A weight had settled on him over the last few hours, but she found herself dismissing it easily. It was a lot for her to take in, and she'd been down this road before, though much younger and much less prepared. And without a man who had just spent hours kissing her perfectly flat belly and whispering assurances to a child who was hardly more than a meeting of sperm and egg at this point.

Emma spent much of the walk explaining modern biology to a pirate: the X chromosome of the egg and how the X or Y of the sperm would determine gender (he found this fascinating, that on some level he was the deciding factor in whether they had a son or daughter), how the baby would still likely be in the Fallopian tubes (she stopped to draw a basic anatomy picture into the dirt path with a stick), how the baby would implant into the uterus in the next day or so.

"It's common in my world not to make any sort of announcement until the 12th week, because… "

"No," Killian stopped her, shaking his head. "We don't have that long."

Emma gave him an odd look. "It's honestly quite usual that couples keep this to themselves until the 3rd month. Though I grant you that usually you don't find out until half that time or more has passed already. I wouldn't want to rush…"

He cut in again, speaking firmly: "We need to make public announcement." Emma could see his mind working; he was plotting to himself. "It's no coincidence that we know this early. The fairies are trying to protect you. We need to make sure that everyone knows about this pregnancy, and that the baby is mine."

"Whoa, pirate, that is some possessive macho bullshit you have going on there," Emma put her hand into his chest and shoved him away from her. "You are not putting me up on a platform in the square and bragging to the townfolk about your fertility."

Killian caught her hands in his and shook his head. Then he cocked his head to one side and gave it some thought. "First, I think you must have expected a certain amount of 'macho bullshit' when you took up with a 200-year-old pirate. Second, to be honest, we pretty much do need to do the town-square announcement, although we don't need to get into the details of our sex life in front of everyone. Unless you want to, of course. I know how you like that kind…"

"Killian!"

"No, listen, I have a reason other than my ego," and here Killian felt backed into a corner. He didn't want to worry her, but he knew he couldn't keep the news from her, either. And now he was doubly concerned about causing her any undue stress. He knew Emma; she would always want the harsh truth over a pretty wallpapering of half-statements and omissions.

"That prisoner last night explained what that break-in was meant to accomplish. Arthur wants me dead, but he wanted the men to," Killian hesitated for a moment, not wanting to say the word out loud, but rushing on, "he wanted the attackers to rape you."

Emma froze. She was immediately back in that alleyway off the market, with the man's fingers digging into her thighs and pressing against her breasts.

"Why?" she stuttered. "Why would he want that?"

Killian held her shoulders. "I don't quite know the whole story. But Arthur seems to fear my family, or at least my mother's immediate line. He wants me dead and he wants to make sure you don't have any children by me who would be considered legitimate heirs. If other men had you… Arthur could deny paternity."

"But we're not married…" she began.

"That wouldn't matter. He knows… I don't know how… but he knows were are committed to each other, or True Love, or… I don't know quite what he based the decision on. But he knows I would claim any child you have as mine. Your child would be my legitimate heir; others would see it that way."

"Others?"

"I assume Arthur stole us out of Storybrooke so he could kill us where it mattered, either in the Enchanted Forest or in Camelot, so that people who mattered would know that I and all my line were dead or deniable."

"And who would matter?"

Killian shrugged. "I don't know. I had no idea I held any claim at all over Camelot. I guess he's been keeping me on his radar all this time. But none of the women I was with mattered to his plans, until you."

"So if we don't announce this pregnancy publicly, he will be sending men to rape me, knowing it has to happen soon? And once he does know, he'll just want me dead?"

Killian nodded. "Yes, I expect so."

Emma took a step back from him and ran this all through her mind. "Well, this is all several kinds of fucked up." He could feel the magic-fuelled anger bubbling up in her. Killian noted with relief that she didn't seem angry with him. "Now I want to kill him, too."

Killian beamed at her. "That's my g…" He stopped short when she glared at him. "… Swan. Although you're not mine, really, you're your own person, and relationships only work when both partners can freely…"

"Shut up, Killian. I don't need whatever regurgitated Oprah you managed to pick up off daytime television. I am yours and I have the goddamn glowing True Love fairytale to prove it. That also means that you're _mine_ ," she gave him a hard stare.

"Only yours, my love," he agreed quickly.

"So I'll agree to this announcement," she shuddered, "but I'm not going to be paraded about like a brood mare."

"I'm sure Oona will know how to handle this tactfully," he said, knowing that Emma would acquiesce to his cousin's wife.

"And we need to start taking this fight to Arthur. We can't keep waiting defensively while he attacks again and again, until he succeeds."

Killian made a tentative move to pull her into his arms. "Also agreed," he said.

Emma kissed him as he pulled her in. "Let's get back before your crazed family forms a search party and tears the town apart looking for us." She threaded her fingers through his and they continued on towards the house on the square.

…

David hit the ground first, followed by Belle, Snow and finally Will. They all lay temporarily winded and disorientated in a land none of them had seen outside of books. The air in Camelot felt thinner, perhaps like it sat at high elevation, and seemed to have a slight shimmer to it.

Belle gained her feet and then pulled up Will and Snow, while David hauled himself up on the low branches of a tree. They swayed uncertainly.

"So, who's got a map then?" Will asked with forced cheerfulness. "No one, eh?" He spun around in a dramatic little circle, then pointed downhill. "Shall we try that-a-way for starters?"

Snow gave him a hard look. "Don't be dense," she said. "The air suggests this is a mountain kingdom, and we won't find the castle of a mountain kingdom downhill. Let's find a stream and follow it uphill until we find civilisation." "

No one argued with her tracking skills. They found a good-sized stream of icy water fairly quickly, and started a long hike through virgin woods, David and Will hacking through the underbrush with David's sword when their path was blocked. By nightfall, they found a cabin close on the stream.

Belle knocked on the door and explained their situation to a confused old couple. They waved the strangers inside, however, and made tea, and listened as Belle told them they needed a warm place to sleep for the night. Belle felt odd, in her modern clothes and hiking boots and parka, inside a cabin that looked ancient even by Enchanted Forest standards.

"We're looking for Camelot," David put in. "How far away is it?"

"You're heading the right direction, so," said the old woman. "The castle town is still another day's walk."

The old man added: "You can sleep here tonight. We've no beds for ye, but you can sleep here by the hearth and stay warm." He paused, hoping to ask the obvious questions of these oddly-dressed people. "Where are ye from?"

David smiled. "We've come from a Land Without Magic," he said. "My daughter and her… friend… fell through a portal in our world, and we believe they may have come here. We're hoping to find someone who has news of them."

The couple shook their heads. "Not heard of any strangers around here. Arthur keeps a tight rein on Camelot," the man said. "Even when he's not here, like now, his knights keep things in order for him."

"What are the names of your daughter and her friend? I can send for our neighbours, too, see if anyone has heard of them," the old woman said kindly.

"Emma Swan and Hook… Killian Jones," Snow answered.

The old couples' eyes went wide and they looked at each other in shock. "Jones is a common enough name," said the woman. "But Killian…"

"It's not possible. It's been too long," snapped her husband. "Don't dredge all that up. He was a legend when you were but a girl."

"There's plenty alive who remember the boy," the woman retorted. "Arthur survived this long and the boy had similar magic on 'im."

Will looked at his friends, then butt in unceremoniously. "Sorry, what are you on about? Do you know of Killian?"

"We don't know him," the man said quickly, "or even of him. There's a legend says Arthur feared that two children, a boy and a girl, could take his throne from him. Kerry and Killian Jones. So Arthur had the girl killed. The boy, though, disappeared. Unaccounted for to this day. Can't be in Camelot, Arthur has searched every household time and again. But even he stopped searching before I was born."

"The boy's auntie still lives," the woman said. "She never knew what happened to the little boy. She's been kept in the castle for the rest of her days, where Arthur can make sure she's no threat either. Arthur made sure Guinevere never had any children to rival his throne. So if that boy still lives… he's a threat to Arthur."

Snow sucked in her breath. "What happened to the boy's mother?"

"I don't know," the old woman confessed.

"Where can we find this aunt?" Belle questioned gently.

"She lives inside the castle walls, never allowed out," said the man. "Her name is Mairead."

…

Few things in life made the Jones clann happier than planning a party, especially after the wartime stance the family had had to adopt recently. So when Killian followed up the news of Emma's pregnancy with the fact that they needed word of it to spread, quickly and officially, Mac and Oona said that they should throw a party to celebrate the news publicly. The word 'celebration' seemed to soothe Emma's hackles back down a bit, and she agreed as long as were to no embarrassing speeches or announcements. The sisters-in-law sighed and soothed, no certainly not, how course, no one would think of it. Word would simply filter out, and the party would be a public observance of the fact, much like a wedding reception without the wedding. One of the brothers made pointed reference to the lack of a wedding. Emma and Killian ignored him.

They planned the celebration for that weekend, in only 3 days' time. The week passed in a blur of preparations unlike anything Emma had ever seen. Most of the town was invited, and the party would be held in the square, where the Jones family could command entrances and exits and ensure security. Emma would cast a spell over the square, and only people from the town could enter. It was not a perfect solution, but it cut the chances that Arthur's agents or knights could attack from within.

It seemed to Emma that a whole farmyard of animals were slaughtered and spitted to announce her baby's existence, however tenuous. Emma could not let go of her 12-week superstition. She explained to Killian over and again how precarious pregnancies could be at this early stage, but he simply answered that it would be far more precarious if one of Arthur's thugs got hold of her. The ripple effect of this information would force Arthur's hand, he thought. Whatever threat he might pose to Arthur, it had to be based on some sort of support for his family's claim on Camelot still brewing somewhere. Otherwise why would Arthur drag them there from their innocuous life in a Storybrooke?

The sisters-in-law called back the seamstress and Emma found herself in the middle of a 2-day-long slumber party of dress-fittings and make-up and hair-styling that only paused when they all fell asleep where they lay on the floor of Oona's enormous bedroom. Emma stole away whenever she could, the full-time girlish bonding far more than her loner self could take for hours on end. She climbed up the roof the evening before the party wearing a highly detailed, embroidered, full-length black gown that the eldest sister-in-law had been 'simply desperate' to see on her. She settled down with her back against a chimney pot and watched the townspeople stringing paper lanterns across the square.

She wasn't entirely surprised to hear Killian's voice come from the nearby shadows.

"I never thought I'd appreciate having grown up with only Liam for family," he said, "but now I see that it had some advantages."

She laughed, walking over to his spot by the edge of the roof and settling herself between his spread legs. She leaned back into his chest and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I think we can't take it because we're not used to it. Maybe we would love it like they do if family was all we'd ever known," she said.

"Aye, we're too damaged to just appreciate it, I suppose," he answered. He ran his hands down her arms, taking in her dress by feel in the dim light. The skirts spread out over the flat roof top and trailed slightly over the low wall that marked the edge of the roof. "What the hell are you wearing, Swan? There's a bloody lot of it."

"I've no idea," she sighed. "They dress me up like a doll and I have little say in it."

He dropped his head and kissed down her neck, breathing her in as he went. "I like the perfume, though. Where'd that come from?"

"I'm not even sure which one of them gave it me," she said. "They're so kind. I don't want to appear ungrateful…"

"I know," he said. He fished about under her abundant skirts and his hand emerged with his spyglass. "Have a look over there, up on the ridge beyond the cliffs."

She blinked and steadied he glass as he guided it towards what he wanted her to see. "Fires," she said. "Campfires? About …. Three or four of them?"

Killian nodded. "They've all sprung up in the last hour. There may be more coming."

"Arthur?" Emma asked, her voice sounding stronger about it than she felt.

"Could be," Killian agreed. "I'm going to take a couple of the men and have a closer look later tonight. They can't be more than a couple of hours ride from here. "

Emma said nothing. He waited for her to insist that she come along, and kept waiting. When she didn't, he wasn't fool enough to move on.

"We both know this is usually where you just saddle up and come with me," he said carefully. "So why aren't you coming with me? I value my life more than telling you not to."

She turned and looked into his eyes, blue and concerned in the limited starlight. "I thought I would be the one telling you that I can still do everything I could do before, that I'm pregnant and not an invalid. But you know what? I'm scared. I'm scared of losing the baby. It is so early to know about this… there's a good reason women don't usually know for a few weeks yet. When things are more certain…"

Killian just held her and nodded. He wanted to tell her there was no need to worry, but what the fuck did he know about it really? He'd been trying to memorise her lessons about chromosomes and implantation. He had redrawn her anatomical sketches to make sure he had it all straight in his head. Everything he knew about early pregnancy was based on hope and luck, and he was sure that even Oona and the army of sisters-in-law had little more to go on than that. Emma, for all her biological knowledge, also had little more to go on. So he could do the hope speech again, or he could shut up and empathise. He chose the latter. They lay there in the starshine for a bit, Emma watching the preparations and Killian watching the distant campfires on the ridge. Killian toyed with her hair and lay his hand across her belly, hoping and wishing and trying to infuse the tiny life with luck and toughness.

When they had recuperated in the solitude, they levered themselves off the roof tiles and made their way back downstairs. He kissed her in the doorway to Oona's bedroom, all the sisters-in-law sighing and clapping at the public display of affection, and then headed off to round up some cousins to see what those fires were all about.

Just before midnight, he and Mac and Fergus saddled up and rode as silently as possible for the campfires on the ridge.


	11. Chapter 11

Belle and Will rounded that bend in the forest path first, and at last they could see the summit of their climb. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground at this elevation. They had already spied the castle, situated another hour's hike away in a high river valley. The setting was spectacular: a shimmering blue and grey stone confection of a castle, with turrets and flags at every corner, built towards a wondrous tower at the centre, with a round balcony from which Arthur could see enemies approach from any direction. It was simultaneously stunning and a monument to paranoia.

They all stopped to look at the castle from their position above it. The loveliness of the design belied the heavy fortifications. Camelot hid its anxiety well, but David could see the ranks of guards and the soldiers, the archers, the knights. It was unlikely they could break in, he thought.

"Well, this'll be no problem," Will assessed the situation confidently.

David balked. "How are you planning to get in there? There must be 10 guards for every person living in the town!"

"Yeah, but they're all looking for an attack, and we're not going to attack. We're going to wander in individually, all cosy and calm, with goods to sell. And we'll find the kitchens and the guards' quarters and we'll ask some innocent questions. Then we'll walk back out and see if between us, we've found Mairead."

Snow looked impressed. They all marched on, glad of a plan of action.

Down in the valley, the market stalls pushed together, cart to cart, in Camelot's wide town square, just in front of the gates to the magnificent castle. Will took Snow's arm in his and hooked a stolen basket of oranges over her other arm. He was suddenly carrying a matching basket of apples.

"The queen and I are going for a little walk in the castle," he announced. "You two," he looked at Belle and David, "talk to the locals and figure out what you can."

"You are not taking my wife in there without me," David stepped forward threateningly.

"Yes, he is, David," Snow interrupted. "He and I are thieves, and we're best suited to the task. You and Belle stay out here and charm information out of the townfolk."

Snow and Will walked straight past the guards on the castle gate. All sorts of merchants were wandering in and out with baskets of goods; no one took any notice of them. Once inside they found a young servant girl and asked the way to Mairead, as they had fruit she had ordered. The girl didn't even glance at them, pointing down a long corridor to the rear of the castle.

They found Mairead's room easily enough. She wasn't locked away, but wandering freely through in and out of her rooms. Mairead had light brown hair, tucked up in a sensible bun, and did not look nearly old enough to be the aunt of a centuries-old pirate. Time really did work differently in Camelot. She looked perhaps 60, no more. She looked at them with her deep brown eyes, gazing critically at their ill-fitting, stolen clothes.

"Strangers," she said. "Do come in, and shut the door behind you. We wouldn't want to the guards hearing whatever you're about to tell me."

Snow sat in a chair facing Mairead , while Will hung back by the door and then crossed to check the window for alternate escape routes. "We don't have much time," Snow rushed in. "I'm looking for my daughter and her boyfriend. I believe Arthur pulled them through a portal, possibly to Camelot. I think he means to harm them."

"Arthur harms a great many people," Mairead said coolly. "Who is your daughter?"

"Emma Swan," Snow said. When Mairead just shook her head in non-recognition, Snow added, "And her boyfriend is Killian Jones."

Mairead reached forward and gripped Snow's hands hard. "Killian Jones. How… tell me about him. How is it possible he might still be alive?"

"Killian's a bit of a survivor, innit?" smirked Will. "He must be a couple hundred years old by now… all that time in Neverland."

"Neverland… is it like Camelot? Does time move differently there?" Mairead asked, confused.

"Killian doesn't look much over thirty years, by Enchanted Forest standards. You lived there, didn't you, in the Enchanted Forest?"

"Oh, yes, long ago. My friend Orla and I, we married sailors from a little port town in the Enchanted Forest. Orla, she wanted to escape Camelot, and when the Jones brothers came along, we both jumped. She needed away from Arthur," Mairead shook her head. "Not that he let her go anyway. He kept pulling her back, no matter what Orla wanted."

Snow held her breath. Will waded in, no time for delicacy. "Pulled her back? Whaddya mean to say, he had her against her will?"

"Despite her husband and the distance, Arthur kept coming after her. He had Guinevere, but at that time she had eyes for Lancelot. Arthur wanted Orla. And he had her. Two of her children, Kerry and Killian, they were Arthur's." Mairead shuddered. "Come with me." She was on her feet in a moment, pulling at Will and Snow to follow her out the chamber door and down the corridor. They emerged in a grand hall, with a painstakingly carved, heavy, round wooden table at the centre. The walls were lined with large portraits of kings and queens. Mairead pulled them to the final portraits on the wall.

"Guinevere," she pointed to a fine-boned, stunning woman in red, "and Arthur."

Snow and Will stepped right up the painting. Dark hair, flashing blue eyes, the dark beard… there was certainly a resemblance to Killian. Will whistled, "Yeah, that could be Daddy."

Snow continued to look critically at the painting. "Well, dark hair and blue eyes. They do look similar."

Mairead shook her head. "Arthur was convinced. He killed the first child, a girl. The second, a boy, looked nothing like Arthur, so he left the boy alone. When Orla fell pregnant with her third child, Arthur used Merlin to divine it would be a boy. He threatened to kill her other son, Liam, and her husband unless Orla came back to Camelot, had the baby and handed him over to Arthur. She came back, but Jones came after her, hid her, and then ran off with she and the baby and Liam."

Mairead started to cry. "I looked everywhere for those boys. I never found them."

Will suddenly grabbed Snow's hand. "Boots," he hissed. "Guards. We need to go." Will pulled Snow away from Mairead, towards a back exit he had scouted earlier. They left Mairead crying in the hall, jumping out a window and into the market square below, and running for safety in the crowd.

…

Killian, Mac and Fergus stopped their horses 100 metres downwind of the camp and crept carefully into a secluded position. They could see 12 men sitting around 3 fires.

"I don't know that Arthur will make it in time. He was waiting for them at Snow and Charming's castle, thinking the princess would return to her parents' home. Percival sent word they were riding hard for this town, though."

The Jones men kept silent and still, listening in.

"Do we attack without him? The announcement is tomorrow, but the whole town already knows the news."

"Not much point in bolting that stall now the horse has fled," said another. "He'll just want them both dead now. I don't see why it has to be tomorrow."

"The whole town is on high alert at the moment. It would be easier to sneak in few days later."

Arthur's men fell silent for a moment. Killian and Mac had heard enough. The three drew their swords and spread themselves silently around the back of the encampment. Mac and Fergus took out the two men on watch without making a sound. Killian brought his borrowed broadsword cleanly across the neck of a man sleeping nearly in the tree line. The neck severed with no noise. The blade was heavier than his own cutlass, but it cut through bone more effectively.

They advanced into the camp, taking down another three with lethal force before they were spotted. Arthur's men scrambled for their weapons, but their surprise and confusion gave the Jones men the chance they needed. Fergus took a blow to the head, and Killian a dagger across his arm, but they cut down the six men without mercy. All three of them were covered in blood, some of it their own. Killian shrugged off his jacket for a closer look at his arm.

Mac grimaced a bit at the sight of the deep wound and ripped up a bit of his own shirt to bind it.

"Had worse," Killian gritted his teeth. "Let's get back to the house and get Fergus' head seen to."

They didn't bother much with silence on this ride, drinking and talking loudly as they rode back through the mews at the side of the house. Brothers and sisters met them, taking hold of the horses and rushing with bandages and hot water. Killian half-fell, half-dismounted, unsteady with whiskey and blood loss. Fergus had completely passed out and had to be carried off his horse. Oona flew from the back door of the house into the courtyard, pressing Mac into her. She stepped back from his kiss with the blood of his enemies imprinted on her white dress.

Emma rushed out behind her. Killian gave her a wobbly grin, drunken and pained. She pulled him into the kitchen where she could assess him in the light by the roaring fire in the kitchen hearth.

"Right arm," he grunted. She pulled off his jacket and looked him over, hissing as she saw the blood still flowing down his arm. "Can you kiss me and make it better, love?" he tried to grin at her.

Emma cocked an eyebrow at him. "I can make it better, and maybe if you're very good to me later, I'll kiss you," she answered. She held her hands over the wound and a soft glow made the cut fade into nothingness. The blood remained soaked into his shirt.

She took the bottle of whiskey out of left hand and replaced it with a mug of water. "You've lost a lot of blood. Drink water now you don't need the whiskey for the pain."

He pulled her into his lap. She was wearing a simple white nightgown, and much as Oona's dress had done, the cotton soaked up the blood. She carded her fingers through his hair and brought his mouth close.

"Are they dead?" she whispered.

"All twelve," he assured her, "but Arthur wasn't there. He's coming, riding hard for us."

Emma felt more of a thrill that he'd killed for her than she wanted to admit. She could not deny her attraction for Hook, and it was hard to deny that part of him when she was soaked through with his blood and that of the men he had just killed. For her. To keep her safe. To keep their child safe.

"Are you quite certain," he murmured against her lips, "that you don't want to kiss me?"

She crushed her lips against his and sought out his tongue with hers. His hands left flakes of dried blood through her hair as he tilted her head, giving his tongue greater access to her mouth. They kissed passionately, and Emma would have let him have her right there in the kitchen if Mac hadn't walked in, coughing pointedly to get their attention.

Killian rolled his eyes at his cousin. "We're busy here, mate."

Mac raised an eyebrow right back at him. "Well if you could spare Emma for a moment, Fergus needs some help. He's hurt pretty badly."

Emma smiled and stood up. Killian sucked in a breath when he saw the state of her nightgown. He knew what he must look like, but it was another thing to see the aftereffects of violence on her.

"Where's Fergus?" she asked Mac, then followed him back out to the courtyard. Killian stood in the doorway, watching as Emma knelt over Fergus and brought her hands near his head. The white light from her fingertips soaked into Fergus' skin, and he blinked and sat up slowly. All the brothers and sisters in the courtyard gasped. Killian felt his familiar pride in her almost making him glow, again.

"All better?" Emma asked, helping Fergus to his feet.

"All better, sister, thank you," Fergus said. He looked around at his brothers. "Now where's that bottle of whiskey your pirate boyfriend stole?"

…

The whole house woke up with yet another mass hangover, except for Emma. She supposed early knowledge of this baby meant she could start a healthy diet now, before she drank far too much with this family. She had forced Killian into a warm bath last night to wash off the worst of the blood, and joined him herself. Their bloody clothes were still in a pile by the doorway of the room where they'd left them in their rush to be naked together in the bathtub. He had massaged the dried remains of Arthur's thugs out of her hair, then brushed out her long, wet hair for her.

She opened the window a crack to let some of the cool morning air into the room, and she saw that the final preparations for the party were already underway. In a couple of hours, the town square would be thrown open to any and all who wanted to come. Her protection spell might keep out some thugs, but she doubted it would stop someone like Arthur, who had access to powerful magic. She wandered down to the kitchen and poured out two mugs of tea, intending to take one back to Killian.

The seamstress entered the kitchen just then, smiling when she found Emma.

"Just who I was searching for," she beamed. "I have that dress for you." She held up a shimmering, sea green, raw silk dress. It glowed in the firelight. Emma drew in a breath.

"Wow, that's amazing," she sighed.

"Try it on, lovely," the seamstress said. "I've still time to make any alterations before everyone is awake and about."

Emma stepped into an empty bedroom with the seamstress and the older woman helped her into a corset and then the dress. It fit perfectly, clinging just right to every curve.

"It's truly incredible, thank you," Emma gushed. She might not be all that into dresses, but even Emma had to admit this one was something particularly special, a simple style that brought out her bright eyes and hair. The seamstress left, to continue the final fittings of all she'd made for the sisters-in-law. Emma picked up the mugs of tea and made her way back to the bedroom. He woke as she set the mug down next to his side of the bed. And when he woke, he woke in the way he always did, instantly, taking in the whole room and any changes in it.

"Love, you are a vision," he smiled broadly.

"I am, aren't I?" she laughed, giving a little twirl. "The seamstress was in early to hand out gowns. What a bizarre life."

Killian pulled her back down to the bed, and in no time had her flipped, with her back in the covers and his hands exploring her body from above.

"How do you do that? No, wait, that's a story that's going to involve practice or experience or whatever and I've learned better than to ask," she grimaced.

Killian smiled knowingly. "Did you know that with a neckline like this one you can free a woman's breasts without undoing her corset?" he asked wolfishly.

"I did not," she answered. "And I don't want to know how you know that, either."

Killian was about to demonstrate when someone began knocking on their door.

"Emma, it's Oona," she called. "Can you come out?"

Emma smiled at her pirate, and kissed him. She picked herself up off the bed and straightened her skirts, then opened the door. "Coming," she said, slipping around the door and leaving Killian to dress in peace.

Evening fell faster than Emma could have imagined in a blur of food and cakes carried out to heaving tables in the square. There was a buzz of lamp-lighting and drinking. Strangers and those claiming vague family connections came up to Emma, kissing both of her cheeks and wishing her much happiness. Men clapped Killian on the back and offered him congratulations in a way that seemed more than a little lewd to Emma. The square was stuffed with people, far more than she'd seen at the market that first day.

Killian managed a dance or two with her, laughing and holding her close and twirling her around the cobblestones with her dress flashing out behind her. She forgot her fear for a moment in his arms, with the music trilling behind them and the lights above. The good will in the square felt powerful and secure.

Until it wasn't.

Killian and the Jones brothers all froze as one. They heard the hoof beats. Killian counted in his head. Dozens. He heard dozens. Mac was at his side in an instant, followed by the brothers, swords drawn and surrounding Killian and Emma.

"Arthur," Emma said simply. They thundered into the square in full armour, pushing the crowds aside at swordpoint and making a confident line for Killian and Emma. Arthur stopped when he saw Killian with Emma pushed behind him. He took off his helmet and gave his dark head a quick shake, looking down at Killian with almost violet-blue, icy eyes. Arthur didn't look much older than Killian himself.

"Ah, there's my boy," Arthur laughed harshly. "What a lovely reunion, after all these years. Good to see you, my son."

"Son?" Killian asked, for once shocked. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Your mother, well, she just couldn't keep those legs together when I was around," Arthur said, climbing down for his horse. He swaggered a bit towards Killian. Emma felt ill. She had a mental picture of Arthur with Killian's mother, and it didn't involve her parting her legs willingly. "Didn't you know, boy? I guess you didn't have much of a chance to get to know your dear parents. Sorry about that. But I never intended for you to be abandoned." He took another step closer. "I intended for you to be dead." Killian's jaw twitched but he held Emma steady behind him, his sword drawn on Arthur.

"And the Saviour," Arthur bowed to Emma mockingly, his eyes never leaving Killian. "What a shame that this little celebration means that you and that bastard you're carrying have to die, too."

"Ye can fuck yourself, Arthur," Emma heard the eldest brother-in-law say, "we'll kill you and your men if you don't leave here now."

"Oh, I'll go," he said flippantly. "It's just that first I need to do something." With that, an archer behind Arthur let an arrow fly. Killian knocked it aside with his sword. Suddenly, more arrows were loosed on them, and Arthur lunged forward. Killian blocked Arthur's attack, slicing and battling his way forward, keeping Arthur away from Emma. The clash of metal echoed through the square, alongside the screams of the brothers bringing the archers down from their horses. Emma looked around for a sword to defend herself. Oona threw Killian's cutlass to her. She swung around as Percival attacked. His swung his broadsword so hard that she could hardly hold him back. She pushed out with her magic and knocked him back, but another knight came at her in his place.

Mac crept behind Arthur and tripped him. The king fell onto the cobblestones. Killian didn't hesitate, bringing the broadsword down with both hands, taking Arthur's sword hand clean off. Arthur screamed. Then Killian pivoted to find Emma. He saw her fending off Percival who had regained his feet. Killian lunged for him, but Percival slipped his blade into Emma faster. Killian put his blade through Percival and kicked his body to the ground, only to see Emma falling back into Oona's arms, blood staining the front of her dress.

"Oh my God, Emma, no," he fell to his knees next to Emma.

"Did we get her, son? Did we? Ha! I'll keep you and your bastards off that throne forever," Arthur hissed loudly.

Killian ignored the fallen king and focussed only on Emma. The wound was deep and her eyes were starting to close.

"Emma, stay with me, I'm going to get you help," he promised.

Mac and Fergus came up behind him with a horse. "Get on, Killian. You need to get out of here. Arthur's ships are landing in the harbour."

Killian mounted the horse first, and Mac and Fergus lifted Emma up in front of him. He clung onto her with one arm. Oona appeared and pressed fresh dressings in his satchel. With tears in her eyes she kissed her hand and pressed it to Emma's cool cheek.

"Tell her I said good-bye," Oona whispered.

Killian nodded. Mac looked at Killian for a moment. "We'll take out as many as we can, and hold back the rest," Mac said, "but you two need to make it safe away. Can you escape?"

"I believe so. It depends on Emma," Killian answered in a rush. It was Mac's turn to nod, then he swatted the horse into action, and Killian galloped away out of town.

He held Emma tight to his chest as he spurred the horse up the path to the cliffs. She closed her eyes and pressed the side of her face into the cool leather of his coat. The jolting movement made her feel ill with fear and with the uneven motion. It seemed to take ages to arrive at the villa. Killian jumped down to the horse's left and helped her down after him. He gathered her in his arms without waiting to see if she could stand on her own. He kicked in the door with his boot and strode over the bed. When he set her down gently, sitting up against the headboard, he could see the blood seeping into the sea green silk of her gown. The colour of her eyes, a perfect match for the dress just hours before, seemed dull and fading. He felt his heart catch, but tamped down the heartrending rage and fear to concentrate of getting them out of here.

Killian quickly bolted shut the door. He could hear horses' hooves in the distance and knew that Arthur and his knights were following close-on.

"Swan, listen to me. We need to leave. We need to move this villa. I know where we're going. I have it in my head. So you concentrate, my love. You concentrate on me, and on your magic, and together we're going to get you to safety." He held the vial of fairy dust in one hand and willed himself not to shake. "Remember us in this villa the first time, darling? Remember how it was just us, for days, doing nothing but exploring each other and falling in love?" Killian took her hands in his, squeezing gently. "I thought I would never know a more perfect moment in all my life," he continued, "but every moment I have with you is just as precious. I need us to have many, many more, love." He could feel a warmth rising from Emma, as she sparked a bit of magic into his hands. He could see her struggling to find the strength. "That's a tough lass," he said. "God, I love you." He took his face in her hands and kissed her with all the passion and love and fear he had in him. With that he saw the familiar glow between them, and he emptied the contents of the vial over their heads. He heard the horses' hooves coming to a halt outside the door, and boots hitting the hard chalk ground of the clifftop.

On the other side of the door, Arthur hit the ground at a run, and he used his left hand to slid his sword out of its scabbard with a sickening grind of metal. He motioned to a knight to boot in the door. The knight's boot hit once, shaking the wooden door in its frame. The second blow splintered the bolt. He raised his leg to deliver the final blow, but by the time he kicked forward, the villa had disappeared. He and Arthur looked across the grassy clifftop, and it was as though the villa had never been there.


	12. Chapter 12

Killian carried Emma through the doors of the Mount Sinai ER still in the silk and wool outfit he'd worn to the celebration. Emma was slumped in his arms, still in her raw silk gown. The villa had appeared just as he'd imagined, on the rooftop of his apartment building in Manhattan, right on Central Park. It was two blocks to the ER, and he carried her all the way. Two paramedics standing in the doorway immediately saw the blood spreading over her chest as he entered. They rushed her onto a gurney. Killian could only run along beside them as a tall young woman pushed up to Emma's side.

"I'm Dr Okafor," she said. "What's your name?"

"Killian Jones. She's Emma Swan," Killian could not take his eyes off Emma.

"Okay, Mr Jones. What are her injuries?"

"She's been stabbed on the left side of her chest. That is the only injury I know of," he said.

"Does your… wife? Girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend," he assented.

Dr Okafor nodded. "Does Emma have any medical conditions or allergies I should know about?"

"She's pregnant," he said quickly.

She nodded, making a note on a chart. A nurse was already inserting a shunt into Emma's right arm. There was a tiny bloom of blood as the needle found a vein. An i.v. was hooked up as Dr Okafor called for scissors and cut away Emma's dress and look at her wound.

"Mr Jones, listen to me," she clicked her fingers and he dragged his eyes away from Emma and onto the doctor. "I am going to work to stabilise her right now. She has lost a lot of blood, and I need to find out if the blade severed any arteries or organs. I am going to take care of her. Do you understand?"

Killian nodded.

"Mr Jones, the nurse her is going to take you to reception. You are going to fill out some forms and discuss payment. Then she will bring you back here to Emma. Do you understand?"

Killian nodded again. Inside his satchel he found his wallet from Storybrooke, complete with a valid New York driving licence and a platinum Visa card. He gave the address of the apartment complex he owned just blocks away. The lawyer he had hired had arranged a social security number as well, for a ridiculously high fee, to save Killian any immigration difficulties. He had two passports, one Irish and one American, tucked away in Storybrooke, but there was no need of them tonight.

He followed the nurse to the reception desk under the too-bright lights. Emma had looked almost translucent under them. He filled out the forms, let the administrative worker imprint his credit card. Police arrived, alerted to a stab wound by the nursing staff. He explained that they had been mugged walking home through the park from a fancy dress party. The police took his statement. Killian couldn't give a description of the attackers; it all happened so fast, in the dark. They left, satisfied, to log the incident. Finally, a nurse led him back to where Emma was shuttered behind the closed doors of a surgical suite.

He sat outside, waiting for over an hour. When Dr Okafor and another doctor, a surgeon whose name he missed, finally emerged, he could read nothing on their faces. The blade had nicked an artery they explained, by they had repaired the damage. She had lost a lot of blood but not enough to absolutely require a blood transfusion, which they wanted to avoid if possible due to the pregnancy. Not having the transfusion was also dangerous, they said, and at this point Killian realised that his knowledge of modern medicine did not extend nearly far enough. But they didn't ask what he'd feared they might: that Killian had to make a choice between what was best for Emma and what was best for the baby.

Having lost the thread of understanding the medical explanation, Killian cut the doctors off impatiently: "Is Emma going to be all right?"

"Yes," said Dr Okafor. "She is stable now. She will need rest, liquids and recovery time, no stress, no overdoing things, while her body repairs the damage and creates blood. Because of the baby, we're going to keep her in for a few more days. We want to make sure she doesn't develop anaemia."

Anaemia, he would Google that later. "Can I see her?"

The doctors both nodded and led him to Emma's room. She was surrounded by monitors and tubes, and he didn't know if he should be frightened or comforted by them. Were they hurting her? The baby?

Dr Okafor came into the room and explained what was happening. He cut her off again:

"Is the baby all right?"

Dr Okafor shifted a bit. It was the first sign of nervousness he'd seen from the self-assured doctor.

"Mr Jones, how far along is Emma's pregnancy?"

Killian counted back to the day beneath the enchanted tree. It seemed a lifetime ago.

"Four days," he said.

She stared at him. "Mr Jones, we did a blood test, and because it is very powerful we were able to detect a slightly higher than normal level of the hormone we use to confirm pregnancies. But this would put her, as you say, at maybe a week, tops, post-conception."

"Yes, conception happened four days ago," he nodded. "So that's about right."

"Mr Jones," she explained softly, "How did you manage to confirm this pregnancy? It is unusual that our blood test picked it up if you're right about the dates."

Killian considered this conversation unnecessary and annoying. "Emma just knew. I believe her," Killian said dismissively.

"Okay, well, she was right, but there's not even a heartbeat that we can check this early on. As far as we know, the baby is fine. There is, to be honest, not much we can test for at this point."

"May I be alone with her?" Killian asked pointedly. It seemed to him that there was no other useful information the doctor could give him.

"Of course. Visiting hours will begin again tomorrow at 8am. So after you've visited with Emma, you can go home overnight…"

"You expect me to leave her here, all alone?" Killian asked, incredulous.

"Mr Jones, she's in excellent hands at Mt Sinai. The nurses are here to look after her 24/7. I promise she will be well taken care of. It is also important that you take care of yourself. If you don't mind my saying so, you look like you have been through an ordeal," she smiled sympathetically.

"I'm not leaving her," he said finally.

"Yes, Mr Jones, you are. You are going to have a short visit with Emma, and then you are going to go home, eat something, shower and sleep. You will be no good to her if you can barely function yourself."

Killian felt himself butting up against the immutable rules of the modern world. He did not understand how these people functioned, so constrained in their freedom of movement by endless rules and regulations. But what the doctor was telling him about Emma was no doubt true. She would be out of it until tomorrow morning at least. He could go back to the apartment, get some food in, get it ready for her to come home to.

"Aye," he told the doctor, in a tone that suggested she leave the room now.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mr Jones," she said, and left.

Killian took Emma's hand gently, and brushed his other hand over her belly. He leaned his forehead into her fingers, then kissed each one. "We made it, Emma. You did it," he said. "We will be safe here for a while. The doctors say that you and the baby will be fine. They stopped the bleeding. I wish I could get you back to Storybrooke, so that Regina could heal you instantly, but the way back is still blocked." He stood up to kiss her forehead, then her cheek. "I'm going to call Henry, okay? I'm going to let him know you're all right." He let out a shaky breath. "I can't believe they're making me leave you here tonight. But I'll be back first thing, hopefully before you wake up. You have a good long rest, love, that's what you and the baby need." He kissed her again. "Goodnight, my love."

…

Emma opened her eyes and … well, she didn't know what she expected to see, but not this. She was lying on the four poster bed from the villa, but it wasn't inside the villa. The bed lay beneath a solid, warm oak tree with the most intense, golden leaves she had ever seen. She turned her head on the pillow to look around; the bed lay next to a delicate, silvery river that stretched away into a mist. The grassy riverbank was peaceful and sunlit, covered in wildflowers, a riot of orange and red and purple and white against the deep green of the thick grass.

Emma tried to sit up, but her chest hurt something awful. She tried to draw in a deep breath, but that only hurt more. She felt tears starting to form and swore at herself for her weakness. She needed to find Killian.

"Easy, lass," she heard. Startled, she gazed up at the face of man who had appeared beside her bed. He looked older, well dressed in a modern suit and red tie, a bit of grey in his dark hair. He smiled kindly at her. "You've had a run-in with a blade, lass. Here, let me help you." He sat on the edge of the bed next to her and placed one hand over her heart. She saw the blood on her dress disappear, the green silk perfectly smooth again against her chest.

"All better?" he asked her. Emma nodded. He brought his arm around her back and helped her to stand. "I hope you like the flowers. I didn't want this place to frighten you in any way." Emma staggered a bit on gaining her feet, but his arms held her steady. She took a step back to get a better look at him. And gasped. Those eyes, that knowing smile… he looked like an older version of Killian. The resemblance was startling. That shade of blue in his eyes was unmistakeable.

She heard music that she recognised. A waltz. From the ball that she and Killian had attended when the travelled back in time.

"Ah, music. Nice touch, love. Is that a happy memory for you?"

Emma nodded. "Yes. Killian teaching me to dance." She thought she might start crying again.

"Oh, pretty lass, don't cry," the man brushed away a tear with his thumb. "I'll have you back to him in no time. But first, I wanted you and me to have a little chat. I wanted to meet the woman who saved my boy."

"You're Killian's father," she said it like she knew it was a fact.

"Davy Jones," he bowed to her. "How about a little dance, as you've provided us with music? No one ever brings music down here, and I miss it."

Emma felt his strong hand at her back, and placed hers over his other hand. She followed along as he waltzed her through the wildflowers. The music grew a bit stronger.

"But… isn't Arthur Killian's father? Isn't that what this is all about?"

"You tell me, lass. You've met us both. Is Arthur Killian's father?" He gazed at her through Killian's eyes and flashed her Killian's killer-charm grin.

"Not a chance. You are most definitely Killian's father," she said with certainty. She smiled.

"Ah, now, look at that. That is a beautiful smile. I hope my grandchild inherits your smile. And your magic. And your brains," Davy Jones laughed.

"Is the baby okay?" Emma felt tears starting up again. "I've been so worried…"

"Now, lass, we've talked. No tears! That grandbaby of mine is tough as nails already. No need to fear," he twirled Emma around so she faced the river. She could see a boat.

"Is that for me?" she asked, biting her lip.

"No, lass, no! I told you, we're just having a chat. I won't let that bastard Arthur take anything else from my boy, from _me_. You just need a little time here to recover your strength. I'm going to take care of you, then I'll bring you back to Killian. Agreed, aye?"

Emma smiled, eyes still full of tears, but she felt the security of this man holding her. He wasn't going to let anyone hurt her or Killian's baby. The song faded to an end, and Davy Jones took a step back from her.

"Let me have a good look at you. My boy has expensive taste," he grinned, walked around her. "A princess, yes? Well, Snow and Charming will be missing you, too. They've gone to Camelot, you know, searching for you. They've bought into Arthur's lies, I'm afraid."

"Why does Arthur believe he's Killian's father?"

"Arthur was Kerry's father, and he was Liam's father. My Orla, bless her, she was not a faithful woman, and Arthur didn't always ask for… permission. She didn't always have a choice. She had a magical connection to Camelot and couldn't resist it. But Killian… well, she had a magical connection to me, too, and that boy is all Jones."

Emma burst out laughing, thinking of Mac and his brothers around the dining room table the first night she met them. "Yeah, he is. He is that."

"Arthur is too narcissistic to see that," Davy smiled. "It will be his undoing."

Emma heard a commotion, voices, shouting. She jumped. Davy cocked his head to one side, listening. The movement mimicked Killian's so exactly she felt spooked.

"They're calling you back, love _,_ time to go. I'm sorry for the ruckus, but I had to pull you a little closer to me so that I could watch over you tonight. You'll be perfectly well when you wake." He led her over to the bed and lay her down. He smoothed her dress down on the sheets and then brought his hand up to take hers. He leaned down and kissed her very gently on her forehead. "Now you go back and you take care of my son and my grandchild. Don't come bothering me again for a long while, eh?"

Emma reached up and hugged him, kissing his cheek. And then he was gone.


	13. Chapter 13

Jonathan held open the door for the oddly-dressed Mr Jones. He recognised the reclusive owner of the building. No one had seen the man in ages and now he had appeared twice in a day, once with an injured woman in his arms, and now returning without her, and covered in blood.

"Good evening, Mr Jones," Jonathan said. He skipped a moment, as Jones gave him a look that spoke of utter exhaustion. "I'm sorry if this is unwanted but… can I do anything to help, sir? You look, I'm sorry again, sir, but you look…"

Killian just gave him a sad smile. "My girlfriend was stabbed today, coming in through the park."

Jonathan sucked in a breath. "God, I can't believe that. Is she all right? Where is she?"

"She's at Mt Sinai down the road. The doctors say the knife nicked an artery, but they've repaired it. She was in surgery for an hour." Killian leaned against the cool marble wall. "We'd just arrived in New York today, so I've not got food or anything in…"

"Let me run down the shop for you, Mr Jones. I can pick up some milk, coffee, bread… enough to keep you going."

Killian looked the doorman up and down. "Well, yes, thank you, that would actually help." He handed Jonathan a $50. "Basics, I guess, plus a bottle of the best rum you can find." Killian rummaged through his pockets. "Also, I've misplaced my key somewhere today."

"Not to worry, Mr Jones. I'll let you in now, and I'll make another two copies for you and your girlfriend, so she'll have it when she gets home."

Killian leaned heavily into the elevator call button as Jonathan spoke. They rode up together, Jonathan trying to keep the conversation light. "Anything specific you like from the supermarket?" he asked.

Killian thought. "Flour, butter, milk, eggs… to make pancakes. Emma loves them," he smiled weakly. "And chocolate and cinnamon."

Jonathan opened the door from the ring of keys attached to his belt. "I'll be back shortly with the groceries," he promised, and disappeared back into the elevator.

Killian flicked a light switch and surveyed his home. It was furnished in an expensive, modern, minimalist style that was nothing like him. Hardwood floors, white walls, lots of windows, black leather sofas and a stark white coffee table made of no material he could identify. He threw his satchel on top of it, which slightly improved it if only by covering some of it up. I'll let Emma decorate, he thought to himself. Or Henry. He smiled. He'd buy Henry that game system the boy had wanted, and hook it up to that enormous television that obscured much of one wall. Killian was still not a fan of the television.

The kitchen was spotless, the weekly cleaning service had been in and dusted everything down once a week even though he had not returned after bringing Emma and Henry back from New York. He poured himself a glass of water, which only made him realise how thirsty he was. He drank 3 more, then slumped into one of the sofas and stared into space.

Eventually, Killian pulled out the iPhone Henry had helped him buy months ago. He switched it on for the first time since they'd fallen though the portal, intrigued to see dozens of text messages from David, Regina, Snow and mostly Henry. They all stopped abruptly two weeks ago, he saw. The final message was from Regina, so he opened that:

 ** _Hook, you two had better not be off shagging somewhere. David, Mary Margaret, Belle and Will are in Camelot, looking for you and Emma. If you get this, let us know you're okay. Henry is so worried. Bring her back to us, Captain. We won't stop trying to find you. R_**

There were almost daily updates on the search from Henry, but he stopped sending even that after his grandparents left for Camelot. Hook pulled up Henry's contact, and as his finger hovered over the call button, he thought better of it. What would he tell the lad? Your mum's been stabbed and is lying unconscious in the lonely hospital bed where I've abandoned her? Oh, and she's pregnant, because we started shagging the moment we hit the ground in the Enchanted Forest? And King Arthur is chasing us through realms to kill your mother because I made her pregnant.

No, better call Regina. She would take it all better and tone it down for Henry. He called up Regina's contact. Then he shook his head again, and called up Robin's contact. No, she'd just grab the phone off Robin. He pulled up Regina's name again and hit the green phone button, just like Henry had instructed him.

The phone didn't even ring before Regina was shouting in his ear: "Hook! What the fuck is going on Hook! Where are you?" Hook nearly broke down, so relieved to hear her voice to hear her familiar hostility.

"It's Emma…" Killian began. And that was it, he just started crying down the phone. He knew Regina could take it.

She softened immediately. "Just tell me, Hook. Whatever it is, just tell me."

"She's alive. She was stabbed. One of Arthur's knights. We're in New York. We managed to create a portal… fairy dust… magic villa… and she's in hospital here. I had to leave her there overnight." His voice broke slightly at that.

"Of course you did, it's visiting hours, and they exist so that the patients can rest. She's resting, Hook, and they're looking after her. You managed to bring her back from Camelot and straight to hospital?"

"Not Camelot, we were never there. The Enchanted Forest. We were with my family…"

"What family? I thought your family were all dead?" Regina swore. "Oh, I'm sorry. That was insensitive even for me. What have the doctors said about Emma?"

"They said she will recover, she lost a lot of blood. Regina, that's not all… Emma's pregnant."

He could actually hear Regina arching an eyebrow at that news. "Ooookay. Seems you two have been busy. How far along?"

"Four days," he said with certainty.

"Four days? Days?"

"C'mon, I shouldn't have to explain this to you. The fairies worked out that we were True Love and they've been making us fucking glow ever since…"

"Or glow while fucking."

"That, too."

"Enough information, pirate."

"Can Henry come? Can you tell him about all of this? I wanted to call him, but this is a lot of information, and you said he'd been sad…"

"Thank you, Hook. Thank you for thinking of him and for calling me first," Regina said with genuine warmth. "I'll break it all to him gently, and we'll get him to you as soon as possible. You sound shattered. Go to bed. You'll be able to see Emma in the morning. Call back after and give me an update."

"I will, Regina," Killian said sleepily.

"Good night, Hook. Get some rest." She rang off softly.

…

When Emma's eyes snapped open again, the peaceful meadow was gone and she found herself surrounded by a panicked-looking team of doctors and nurses preparing to shoot her full of adrenaline.

"Killian," she called out, her voice stronger than she had expected it to be.

He slipped through the line of nurses expertly. "Right here, love. That was a scare you just gave us." He pushed aside a nurse and sat quite naturally on the bed next to her, threading his fingers through hers. His voice was calm and steady; his eyes gave nothing away.

"Killian, what's going on?" she asked, not understanding how they came to be in a modern hospital. The last thing she remembered was being at the party; Arthur attacking; Oona catching her; Killian holding her on a horse…

"We're in New York, darling. You were attacked in Central Park and stabbed. The doctors here patched you up. They've done such a good job that it seems there's no sign at all that you were ever hurt," Killian was grinning from ear to ear. "It's a bloody miracle."

"Ms Swan," the young doctor on duty struggled to find words, "we nearly lost you there. But your heartrate seems to be back on track. We're going to take another blood test, okay? You lost a lot of blood yesterday, and that may be causing problems we hadn't anticipated." He lifted a blood-soaked bandage from her chest. "But your wound appears to have healed… overnight."

Emma kept her eyes on Killian. She smiled back at him. "A miracle. Lucky me," she said.

"It's magic," he agreed. "Now could you all give us a few minutes alone? Please?" He waited for the last of the medical staff to leave her room.

"Did you manage to do this, love?" He ran his fingers over the unblemished skin where a deep knife wound had been until just moments before.

She reached into his shirt and wrapped her hand around the silver chain that held his charms. She pulled him close to her, so that her mouth was next to his ear. "Your father healed me," she whispered.

Killian stared at her blankly. "So which claimant to be my father are we discussing? Arthur?"

"Oh, no, Arthur is definitely not your father," Emma shook her head against the pillow emphatically. "I've just met your Daddy, and he was… Killian, I'm sorry, but there's no other word for it… your father is hot. Dark suit, red tie, a little grey at the temples… sexy. Your eyes and your wicked smile. He danced with me. A waltz, just like you and I danced."

"I'm afraid I've not had the pleasure since I was too young to remember."

"Killian, your father is Davy Jones. Davy Jones as in the locker? See, my love, this is the sort of information you're supposed to give up to me without me being dragged into the underworld to learn it."

"He tried to pull you into the Underworld?"

"No, not really. Davy just wanted to watch over me. He said he needed to keep me close for the night, to keep me safe, and that it would cause some confusion up here. He healed my wound… and he told me that our baby is just fine. Tough." Emma felt the tears starting again. "And he wouldn't let me cry…"

Killian slid into bed next to her, and gathered her against his chest. "Go ahead and cry, love." He was still stunned. His father. He had no real memory of him. No photos, obviously, or even sketches. Liam had told him who their father was, told him what the name Davy Jones meant. Arthur's claim to be his father seemed out of the blue, but he had no way to confirm or deny it, short of carting him back to the world without magic for a DNA test.

"Davy told me that Liam and Kerry were Arthur's children, but Arthur didn't believe it of Liam because he looked nothing like him. But you… dark hair, blue eyes, Arthur believed you to be his. But I'm here to tell you, one look at Davy Jones is there is no denying your paternity. At all." Emma seemed to be reliving it, a dreamy glint in her eyes. "God, is he…"

"All right, Swan. We've established that you have a Daddy kink," Killian stopped her. "Or possibly an underworld kink."

"No, no, he made the whole place bloom with flowers. There was the big bed from the villa, and a wondrous, magical tree…"

"Swan, I really don't want to hear more. My own father tried to seduce you while you were unconscious. I'm not liking this story more for its repetition." Killian looked affronted. "You'll just have anyone if there's a tree involved, won't you?"

"Killian! I can't believe you are jealous of your father. He was looking after me, getting me back to you. He told me to take care of you, and the baby."

"If I'm that much like him then I know precisely what he was up to," Killian huffed.

"You have him all wrong, Killian. He loves you." Emma insisted, and Killian gave her an uncertain look.

The young doctor came back in to find Killian and Emma cuddled on the hospital bed. Given everything else that was odd about this case, he chose to ignore it. "Your blood count is still low, Ms Swan. But if you rest and drink plenty of fluids and eat well, it should be back to normal in a few weeks. As you're pregnant, I'm going to prescribe you some iron, folic acid and vitamins to make sure the baby is getting all the nutrients it needs."

"Excellent, then I'll take her home, shall I?" Killian asked. "I brought over a coat and dress, love," he added, rising from the bed and reaching for the large, embossed shopping bag he'd dropped by the door.

"Mr Jones, she just flatlined not half an hour ago. I really don't recommend that she leave."

"I have a feeling I'll be fine now, doctor," Emma said. "Killian, did you buy me new boots?" She smiled at him across the hospital room, ignoring the doctor, as Killian pulled a dress, coat and boots out of the bag with a grin. "Let's go home, Mr Jones."

The doctor tried to talk them out of it, but in the end signed the discharge papers. Emma giggled at the lingerie Killian dangled in front of her – "Seriously, I'm not 24 hours out of surgery and this is what you bought me?" – and Killian phoned the car service that Jonathan had set up that morning, rather than have her walk the distance to the apartment. Emma slipped on the thick cotton dress and embroidered, red coat he had brought for her.

"This coat is beautiful, Killian," she ran her hands over the wool. "Where did you get it?"

"I need to tell you about Jonathan," he said. "You're going to love him. He's our doorman."

"You have a doorman? You have an apartment?"

"I told you, Swan. We have a whole building."

"We?"

"We're true love, darling. Glowy fairy dust and all that, remember? What's mine is yours."

"Not according to the state of New York."

A shiny new Audi pulled up in front of the hospital doors. Killian opened the car door for her, waited for her adjust her dress, and then walked around to his own side. He gave the address and the driver set off. Emma immediately breathed out a sigh of relief at being sprung from the hospital. She settled her head against Killian's shoulder. She would do what the doctors told her for once. She would let him take care of her for a couple of weeks while her blood supply replenished itself. She would take her vitamins. She would eat leafy green vegetables.

The car pulled up to a handsome brownstone with a liveried doorman holding open the glass door for her. Killian opened her car door and helped her out. Jonathan was grinning at her.

"Ms Swan, how wonderful to see you back." Emma smiled uncertainly at that. The last time she'd been through this lobby, she'd been unconscious and bleeding to death in Killian's arms.

She looked around the marble lobby. This was all a bit much. Expensive hospital, expensive clothes, expensive car… she felt almost as out of place in New York now as she had in the Enchanted Forest. Killian swept her through the entryway and into the waiting elevator. He pushed the button for the penthouse. Obviously.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Killian. This is ridiculous. How much money do you have?"

"I was a very successful pirate, love," he said. "My lawyer was impressed the gold. He managed to turn it into hard currency without asking too many awkward questions."

The penthouse was predictably enormous, with picture windows that overlooked the park. The furniture was cold and uninviting, and the place felt unlived in and unloved, but Emma supposed that was to be expected, as no one lived there until now. She opened the fridge. Milk, juice, butter, eggs, salad… when had he found time to go shopping?

"There's cocoa and cinnamon in the cupboard, love. Shall I make you a cup?"

"Yes, please," she laughed. She wandered down that hallway and found the master suite. Also huge. She considered the bed, functional to the point of frightening. She waved her hand to replace it with the four-poster from the villa. Nothing happened. It took her a moment to remember that she had no magic here.

Killian leaned against the doorframe and handed her the cocoa. "Did you just try to redecorate magically?" he smiled. Emma nodded. "Jonathan is bringing up some catalogues. We'll find a nice four poster, huh? Wooden." Emma set down the mug on the shelf over the fireplace (fireplace!) and walked into his arms. She rubbed her cheek against his shirt (where had the shirt come from anyway?) and sighed.

"I'm sure if I look there's five or six bathrooms in this place, but which is nearest? I want to _soak_ ," she said.

"There's three bathrooms, so stop exaggerating. And the closest is right here," he leaned around the corner and flicked on a light switch. It was bigger than her kitchen in Boston.

"If I run this bath, are you getting in with me?"

"I have no other plans, Swan. The current monster count, including - but not limited to - murderous men claiming to be my father, is zero. So let's bathe."

Emma kissed him and then dropped the coat and dress on the bed before sauntering into the bathroom in her new lingerie. Killian followed.

…

Snow and Charming settled into the bed at the inn. Will had stolen enough money to ensure a good night's sleep above a reputable pub. They all needed a night's rest and some space to think through their next move.

"They're not in Camelot, David," Snow sighed. "It's been over a month, and Mairead had never seen them. We found her within 24 hours, so if Emma and Killian were here…"

"…that would have been their first stop," David agreed. "Arthur is in the Enchanted Forest, and that must be where they are as well."

"So how do we get to the Enchanted Forest from here?" she wondered aloud.

"We will find her, Snow. We always do. And we'll get back home to Neal," David held her close. "It's not like you to lose hope. We'll figure it out tomorrow, after some sleep. If we've found out about Arthur, odds are they know it, too."


	14. Chapter 14

_**I just wanted to thank all of you who have followed, favourited and even reviewed this story - I've loved reading your thoughts and opinions and predictions on this fic. Much appreciated!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I own, clearly, none of these characters.**_

...

Killian didn't like to push her. Her wound may have healed, but the blood loss had not reversed, and she still looked a bit pale and weak. She had used powerful magic, while bleeding dangerously, to move the villa. He wasn't even sure that should have worked, how they had magicked themselves into a world without magic. The fairies had told them not to do it. But he supposed that lying low and hoping Arthur wouldn't find them hadn't worked out either, and needs must. In the heat of the moment, all he had been able to think about was phoning an ambulance, and that thought had led to hospitals, and that thought had led to the only other city in the world without magic that he had any experience of.

This world's medicine had its limits, however, and the doctors had warned him that she would continue to feel lightheaded and weak for a few weeks. So he wanted to be careful and gentle with her. Then again, she had invited him into the bath with her. She had climbed on top of him, all wet and steamy and soapy, and slid her legs apart. He could not very well deny his True Love, the mother of his child, what she craved. And thus he found himself with both hands gripping the tops of her slippery, bare thighs while she ground herself into him, panting and chanting his name like an incantation. He had never made any claims to self control in this regard.

He began to trail his fingers over her breasts, running his thumbs across her nipples, and the sensation of her bath-warmed nipples hardening under his fingertips shot straight to his cock. He sat up in the water and reached one hand into the small of her back to hold her in place, drawing little circles into her skin to make the movement seem less forceful, more caring. All the same, he held her in place where he wanted her, where she seemed very much to want him. He used his body to shift her in line with cock, all the while kissing down her neck and chest until her found a nipple and licked gently across its hardened peak. He thrust all the way inside her, sucking her nipple between her teeth at the same time. When he felt her sink all the way down on him, he stilled, drinking in the tight, warm feel of her around him, the slight friction as she moved her hips subtly above him.

Emma felt like screaming. She had been so wound up, rubbing her sensitive clit along his erection, wondering if he was going to take the hint and stop treating her like an invalid. When he penetrated her so abruptly, she lost her voice in the sensation. She felt the drag of him starting to stroke himself along her walls. She nudged her hips just a touch further back and … _oh my God… right there, that is exactly the spot… oh my God, he's speeding up…_ His teeth teased her nipple and his tongue flicked across the responsive tip, the little jolts of pleasure hardwired to spark in her centre. Her muscles clenched around his cock involuntarily as her arousal built, and he moaned out his appreciation, thrusting faster. She could hear her voice repeating his name at odd intervals, interspersed with little pleas to take her harder, but she just could not find the right friction in the water, could not press herself down hard enough, constrained by the bathtub.

She whined in frustrated confusion as he slipped his length out of her and suddenly stood and stepped out of the bath. He leaned down and picked her up – "I need to be deeper" – and carried her the short distance to the bed. He lay her wet body across the soft blankets, then grabbed a pillow. "Lift your hips, love," he said, and she followed his instructions, letting him slip the pillow under the small of her back. He climbed up onto the bed, between her legs, as she ran her arms up and down his wet biceps. She tightened her fingers around his muscles as he slammed back into her in one swift movement. Her breath shuddered.

"I want to fuck you, Emma. Hard," he whispered against her hair in his low, seductive voice. He pulled almost all the way out and then pivoted back, sinking in to the hilt. Some distant part of his brain objected that he was supposed to be gentle and loving to this woman, not swear at her and pound her into the bed. But her back arched off the mattress, bringing her breasts back up to his mouth, and he gratefully wrapped his lips around the very tip of one and massaged his hand into her softness. His brain could not hold the two competing thoughts simultaneously, so he switched the whole thing down.

Killian paced himself, watching the effect that his staccato rhythm had on her. She writhed under him, panting and breathing instructions into his hair, "Harder." "More." "Please make me come." He lifted his head from her chest and told her to slide her hand between her legs. Emma's fingers reached down and stroked gently over his balls first, then lingered to touch his cock as it thrust in and out of her, slippery and hard. She sighed and moved her fingers to flick her clit. He felt her body tense, and she held her breath as she chased her orgasm, driving her hips up to meet his thrusts and working her fingers expertly between them. He kept himself deep and drove against that spot incessantly. When she exhaled it was to scream his name. His beautiful lover, she had never been quiet, and tonight she was shouting his name like she was trying to call him back from the dead.

Killian pushed her through her pleasure, then let himself go, pulsing deep within Emma as her walls clenched him tight. He held himself above her as they came down, his brain starting to stutter back to life and he remembered how vulnerable she still was.

He kissed along her exposed neck, one hand working its way under her head where it was thrown back on the blankets, her eyes closed in satisfaction. He smiled at the sight. Killian thought that she looked well taken care of.

"Love," he murmured quietly, lifting her head with his hand, "you all right?"

She opened her eyes and attempted to focus. "You must be fucking kidding. How much louder do I need to scream to announce how 'all right' I'm feeling? You miss that or something?"

Laughing, Killian slid out of her and rolled onto his back, pulling her onto his chest in the same movement. "No, I heard that. The neighbours heard that. Jonathan is probably downstairs phoning the police." Both of his hands worked through her hair, brushing it off her face and smoothing it down across her back and his chest.

Emma closed her eyes and smiled lazily. She lifted a hand in front her eyes. "Ahhh, no glowing. I sort of miss that," she mused.

She waited for the joke or innuendo; she'd given him enough of an opening. None came. "I'm glowing," he said simply. "You're alive." He suddenly rolled her onto her back again, propping himself on one arm above her and resting the other hand on her belly. "You're both alive, and you very nearly were not."

Emma scanned his eyes for hurt, but she only saw genuine relief. "I'm sorry I frightened you. I should have used my magic back there, against Arthur, but it was like I couldn't control it properly. Ever since I found out about the baby, to be honest, it's been a little… off. But I guess none of the matters here." She shrugged. "Anyway, I couldn't die because your Daddy wouldn't let me past." She grinned at him. He still looked serious, so she raised her lips against his and kissed him deeply. When she pulled back, he was smiling again.

Leaning back against the soft blankets, she felt suddenly sleepy and began to close her eyes again. Killian moved around her, then picked her up like a she weighed nothing and settled her under the sheets and blankets. He crawled in next to her and held her close until she fell asleep. He drifted off with her, completely happy, his hand splayed protectively over the tiny bundle of cells that the iPhone's internet connection had assured him was growing into their baby.

…

To Belle's mind, it was obvious that Hook and Emma had thus far escaped Arthur. If the power-mad king was still in the Enchanted Forest rather than Camelot, it meant that he had not managed to do whatever he had left his throne to accomplish. So she was working methodically to find a way to travel there. She reckoned the best source of information would be Mairead, who after all had travelled back and forth after her marriage with apparent ease.

So while the others argued into the night over the best course of action, Belle slipped away back to the castle. She entered easily, the guards waving her past with her basket of goods for the kitchens. She followed the hallways that Will had described until she found herself in front of Mairead's door. Belle knocked softly, but the door edged open with the slightest pressure. She saw an older woman sitting by the window, looking out at the night sky.

"Mairead? May I speak with you?" she called.

Mairead looked back from the window, her face expressing no surprise at Belle's appearance. "Another visitor? No one for ages, and suddenly you all can't leave me alone. I told the others, I don't know where Killian is. If I did, I would go to him myself. I've been trapped in this castle for long enough," she said bitterly.

Belle padded forwarded respectfully and sat next to the woman. "I know you would. I know you searched for him before." Belle reached out her hand and laid it over the woman's hand.

Mairead snapped her eyes to Belle, surprised. "I loved Orla and would have protected that boy. Orla wrote to me about him; he was a bright spark, all blue eyes and evil intent," she laughed. "Always into trouble and his brother bailing him out. Liam was so sensible, and Killian so impulsive, but he was only wee. Then when Orla died, Jones vanished him, so that Arthur wouldn't get his hands on the boy. Took Liam, too. I hated Jones for taking those boys. I never saw any of them again."

Belle squeezed Mairead's hands. "Killian is alive. We think he's in the Enchanted Forest with Emma, and we need to find them, warn them about Arthur, and help them defeat him. But we don't know how to get there. How did you create a portal when you travelled with Orla?"

"I didn't travel through a portal, never. Davy took us, always, between Cath Harbour and Camelot. The journey only took about 2 days."

"Davy?" Belle asked.

"Orla's husband," Mairead said simply.

"Wait. Killian's father is called Davy Jones?"

"Yes, he was a ship's captain. He took us back and forth from Camelot on his ship. The Jewel of the Realm. Beautiful she was, carved from…"

"Enchanted wood," Belle finished her sentence, hearing Hook's voice in her head. "He knew a way to the Enchanted Forest by sea."

Mairead nodded. "We sailed back and forth freely. Nothing could catch the Jewel, and Davy was a fearless captain. But I don't know how he did it. You'd need to see Davy and ask him, and I'm afraid that's not easily done these days. Not such that you can come back and tell us all what he said."

Belle stared at her. "So the man that Killian thinks is his father is Davy Jones? As in Davy Jones' locker? He's a guardian of the Underworld?"

Mairead looked back with clear eyes. "He only became that after Orla died, after he took the boys. I thought he'd taken them to the Underworld with him."

Belle heard footsteps in the hallway, and someone calling Mairead's name softly. "That's Guinevere," Mairead whispered in a rush. "She's loyal to Arthur, and she mustn't know you're here. Quickly, out the window." Mairead nearly pushed her over the window ledge.

Belle gave Mairead's hand a final squeeze and jumped out the same way Snow and Will had. As she began the walk back to the inn, Belle turned the problem over in her mind. They needed to find the Jolly Roger, and somehow, they needed to speak to Davy Jones.


	15. Chapter 15

"Mom?" Henry yelled down the phone in excitement. "Mom, are you there?"

Emma's voice broke as she tried to answer. She had not been able to stop crying since Killian rang Regina's number. Regina had spoken to her for 10 minutes, a monologue of Storybrooke life and Henry's thoughts and feelings that detailed almost every school day she had missed. Emma had not managed more than a squeak through her tears. Regina tried briefly to be understanding and gentle, but gave up in the end.

"Emma, I'm going to put him on and you have to stop crying," Regina finally said in frustration. "I know you've been through a lot and you're still weak, and the hormones, but you'll freak him out."

"'Kay," Emma managed at last, along with a sob that sounded something like "ready."

But now that she heard his voice, real and alive and safe in Regina's house, in a surrounding she could see in her mind, Emma lost it completely.

Killian pried the phone out of her fingers and took over. "Henry, it's… "

"Hook! What's going on? Is Mom okay? Why is she crying? You didn't do anything to her, did you?"

Nothing I'm going to admit to in a phone conversation with a 13-year-old, Killian thought, his guilt briefly cataloguing his sins: pulled her into a portal, indirectly responsible for her near-rape and murder, got her pregnant, let her get pulled into the Underworld while all alone in hospital…

"Your Mum's fine, lad. She's just overwhelmed at hearing from you again. She's been missing you every day we've been gone." By now, Emma had her head in his lap and was shaking. Killian had intended to hit speaker phone, but hesitated as the sobbing was honestly heart rending. He rubbed her back and tried to engage Henry in conversation until she calmed down. "They're happy tears," he lied.

"She's crying because she's happy?" Henry sounded distinctly sceptical. "She doesn't sound happy."

Killian looked down at the woman in his lap. A patch of dampness was spreading over his jeans as her 'happiness' cried itself into the fabric.

"Happy's probably the wrong word," Killian agreed. "Emotional is probably what I'm looking for."

Henry sounded stubborn, uncertain. "Mom's not a crier. What have you done to her?" he accused.

Killian realised that when he fell into that portal, he and Emma had been publicly involved very briefly. Henry knew they'd been on a date or two, but he would have no inkling of how things had moved on over the last month. Moved on fast and deep. To Henry, he was still 'Hook', and a few sailing trips were not enough to convince the lad that his mum was safe with a pirate, not when he had evidence to suggest she wasn't fine.

"Henry, Regina told you that your mum was stabbed, and even though magic healed her, she still needs time to recover," Killian explained. "And she's so desperate to see you, she's just over-emotional. I promise you lad, I would never, ever hurt her."

Henry sighed. "I know you wouldn't, Hook. I'm sorry." He thought for a moment. "Maybe I could just talk to her, even if she can't answer back?"

Killian laughed. "That's pretty much what Regina had to do," he said as cheerfully as possible. "I'm going to put her on, okay?" Killian squeezed Emma's shoulder gently. "I'm going to put Henry on with you, love. He's happy to just talk and you can listen."

Emma felt Killian holding the phone against her ear. And she heard Henry's voice again, strong and clear. "Mom? You there? Mom told me all about what happened to you and Hook in the Enchanted Forest. I'm really sorry you were hurt but she and Hook say you're okay now. Are you okay? Oh, I forgot I'm not supposed to ask you questions yet."

Emma hiccupped in response.

"Mom's bringing me down to see you in New York. She says I can skip school for a week and visit. I can't wait to see you!"

Emma sniffled at the phone. "I… love you, Henry," she croaked out. "I miss you so much." She managed to sit up next to Killian and take the phone from him. "When are you coming?"

"On Friday, straight after school. We're taking a plane. Mom says Hook has an apartment we can stay at?"

Emma smiled. "He does. It's a really nice apartment, much bigger than the one we had in New York. And it's right on the park." Killian handed her tissues as she tried to control herself. "You'll have your own room here."

"Cool," Henry said simply. "Oh, Mom wants to talk to you again. I'll see you on Friday, okay? I love you, Mom."

Emma couldn't respond, and by the time Regina took the phone again, she had lost the power of speech.

"Oh, for God's sake, put Hook back on," Regina muttered.

Killian took the phone again. "We'll see you on Friday," Regina told him. "The flight lands at 6.30 that evening."

"I'll send a car to pick you up," he promised. "I don't think Emma's up for a trip to the airport, and I can't really leave her." Emma had slumped back down into his lap. "Regina, have you told Henry about the baby?"

"Not yet," she conceded. "It's all been a lot to handle, and you two weren't at the baby-making stage when you left here, so it might be a bit difficult for him to accept. But once he sees you two together again, I'm sure he'll be ready to hear it. Just give him a bit more time."

"Of course. It's just… Emma really has been… emotional. Unpredictable. Regina, could this be a side effect of the pregnancy?"

"Could be," she mused. "It's awfully early. But she has a lot of magical emotion running around her system and pregnancy could set it off in different directions. Should have thought of that before you knocked her up, pirate."

"Thank you, Regina, as always, for your sympathy," Killian snarked.

"See you Friday. Hand Emma a tissue for me," she said, and hung up abruptly.

…

Emma stood on the sidewalk outside an electronics shop not far from their 5th Avenue apartment. Killian had coaxed her outside into the autumn sunshine, hoping that a Henry-focused shopping trip might cheer her up. She'd followed Killian around the store as he peppered the sales clerk with questions about games systems, finally coming away with an Xbox and a selection of games. Emma shook her head and accused him of trying to buy Henry's affection. He'd only asked if she thought it might work.

But when she'd nearly passed out at the check-out, Emma admitted that she didn't have the legs for the walk home. She stood on the sidewalk under an awning to shelter from the sudden rainstorm, their bags of shopping at her feet.

Emma watched thoughtfully as Killian pulled his phone out of his back pocket to check an incoming message. She watched him step to the curb to hail a cab for them; she felt like she was looking properly at him for the first time since they landed in New York. He was holding an umbrella over his head, his attention focused partially on the street and partially on a text message, his light raincoat open to show dark jeans and a fitted blue t-shirt. The outfit was equal parts understated and expensive. The boots were gone – where and when the hell did he buy Chucks? She narrowed her eyes. Nope, even the belt was a deep brown. She had an urge to undo his trousers and check his underwear, because as far as she could tell, _he wasn't wearing a single item of black clothing_. The rings were still on his right hand, none on the left (her mind wandered to wedding bands, she could not help it), and the chain around his neck was tucked into his t-shirt, almost unnoticeable. His hair had grown out a bit and he was unthinkingly scraping it back from his face. It stuck up at odd angles in the dampness.

He looked like he had lived here all his life. Two hundred plus years of piracy wiped out by a new outfit and a dedication to modern technology.

A taxi pulled over for them a moment later, and he stepped back to where she was waiting under the awning, to hold the umbrella over her head and offer her his arm. She gave him a quizzical look, and he looked back in blank confusion. He had just found a taxi; what possible objection could Swan have to him hailing a taxi? She had just told him not a moment before that she was feeling tired, and that morning she had nearly fainted when she stood up too quickly. He tried to think whether he had crossed some invisible feminist line by hailing the cab she had just requested. None were immediately obvious to him.

"Something wrong, love?"

Emma regarded him with intense interest. "Where'd you hide the pirate?" she asked evenly.

"Still here, love. Why, do you need someone killed?"

Emma looked him up and down. "No. But tell me something: what colour are your underwear?"

"What?"

"You heard the question. Answer it."

He looked at her searchingly, then went ahead and answered carefully: "Black." He continued to search for a sign in her face. Nothing. "Is black the right answer?"

"Yup." She took his arm, stood under his umbrella and let him open the door of the taxi for her. In the backseat, she took his hand and began playing with his rings as he gave the address to the cab driver. He leaned back in his seat and looked into her eyes.

"Anything you'd like to discuss, Swan?"

"Maybe I'm just feeling hormonal," she shrugged.

"Yes," he admitted slowly. "You do seem to be. But I'm not sure what it has to do with the colour of boxer briefs."

"See? How do you know that term?"

"Internet."

"How do you know _that_ term?"

"Henry."

Emma sighed at the name and resumed messing about with his rings, training her full attention on them. The bags of shopping included bedding and books for Henry's room, and some clothing for her, although Regina had promised to raid her closets and bring more.

"You fit in surprisingly well in 21st century New York City," she said. "That's all."

"Part of being a survivor is knowing how to adapt."

She kept hold of his hand and looked out the window at the city rushing by. New York felt strange to her now, with all her memories intact and the Enchanted Forest fresh in her mind. It felt nothing like it had when she lived here with Henry, when Killian had found her, convinced that modern reality was all she had ever known. With Walsh… she shuddered a bit at the thought of him touching her. Then she remembered the men Arthur had sent after her.

"Hey, what's going on in your head?" Killian asked as they pulled up to the apartment building, but she didn't get the chance to answer. Killian paid the driver and walked quickly to her side of the taxi. He handed their bags to the doorman and leaned down to help her out. She felt the blood rush from her head the moment she stood, and her legs gave out. Killian caught her easily and picked her up. He carried her to the elevators, but then she convinced him she felt a bit stronger. He kept an arm around her waist until they were back in the apartment.

"We really need to start following doctor's orders," he said. "You should be in bed, resting."

Emma curled up on the sofa. "I'll rest here, I promise. Get the Xbox hooked up!"

Killian laughed. "It's supposed to be for Henry. But I'll sort it out and then you can explain computer games to me," he said.

So Emma spent the rest of the afternoon on the sofa with her lover, the fearsome pirate captain who now looked every inch the modern New Yorker. She kept looking over at him to see if he would transform into Captain Hook. It never happened.

…

"So the man who Killian thinks was his father is Davy Jones?" Will had exactly the same reaction to the news as Belle had. "That… actually, that makes sense. I have a hard time believing that's _not_ true."

Belle explained again to them all that it didn't matter which man was Killian's father. Arthur was convinced Killian was his son, and therefore a threat to his rule. And Davy Jones knew how to get to Camelot in the Jolly Roger. They had to find him.

"This is insane. The only way for one of us to speak to Davy Jones is to die," Snow shook her head hopelessly.

"I'll go," David said instantly. "If this man can get us to Emma, we have no choice. We have to find her."

Snow shook her head. "David, aren't you listening? You would have to die… we can't bring you back from a meet and greet in the Underworld."

Belle looked up from her books. "There is a way. A potion made of the crushed shenflower, just enough to tip David into a near death, but not quite enough to stop his heart. We would have to trust, though, that Davy Jones wants to send David back to us, and not take him across the river to the Underworld."

"Do you know where to find this flower, Belle?" David asked, undisturbed.

"David, no! This is too dangerous," Snow pleaded.

"What else can we do, Snow," he took her in his arms. "We must find her, before Arthur does."

Will grabbed his coat, looked at the pictures and information in Belle's book, and opened the door to their room. "I'll collect the flowers. Belle, you figure out how to make the potion." He shut the door behind him, leaving the three others to prepare themselves for what had to be done.

…

Davy Jones stood over the latest body littering his stretch of the riverside. The Prince was blonde and muscular and even in a state of near-death, clutching his sword in his hand; Jones saw where the Swan woman inherited her bright hair and her fight. He gave the man a light kick with his boot.

"Rise and shine, Prince Charming," Jones drawled sardonically. He waited, tapping his boots on the hard shoreline, as David came round. The flowers and trees that he had conjured to greet Emma were gone. The landscape was grey, dusty, rocky, unforgiving. The river ran as though through in a parallel reality, giving no moisture or nutrients to the land around it.

David woke slowly, his surroundings coming into hazy focus a little at a time. The lingering effects of the poison made his brain feel slower, all his reactions dulled. But he saw the face looming over him, smudged at the edges and uncertain, but familiar all the same.

"Hook," David rasped, his voice emerging from its paralysis, "God, Hook. I found you. Where's Emma? Is Emma okay?"

The voice that boomed out in laughter, though, was not Hook's. David felt a chill spread from his shuddering heart out into his limbs. The man's face came into sharper focus. Not Hook, no, but very like… the same eyes, the facial structure, the dark hair and that infuriating smirk.

"Good to know I'm still young enough to be mistaken for my son. Though he is over 200 years old, so I'm not sure if it's much of a compliment."

"Davy Jones," David said, his voice leaden. He took in the man before him. "And… all that stuff about Arthur being Hook's father… bullshit."

Jones gave him Hook's smirk. "The apple didn't fall far from the tree with that boy, did it?" he asked. "And your little girl… very like her Daddy. They've been inseparable for the last month you know, our children, ever since they fell through that portal into the Enchanted Forest. They're not there now, of course, they fled to the Land Without Magic. But Arthur is still in the Forest, so that's where you need to be."

"What do you know of Emma?" David demanded.

"I keep up to date of what's happening with my family up there," Davy said deliberately. "So I was watching my son with that little girl of yours. Pretty thing. They've been… busy… in the Enchanted Forest."

David's jaw clenched and his hand unconsciously gripped his sword.

"Planning to murder my son for defiling your daughter?" Davy asked with a hint of a mocking laugh.

"Thought had crossed my mind," David answered cautiously, circling Davy.

"You rather missed your chance at murderous indignation with the last one she fell in with… Baelfire. He's been through here," Jones nodded towards the boat bobbing on the silvery river. "Loved her in the end, but too little, too late and all that…"

David held his counsel. The man in front of him was a demon. Anything he said…

Jones cut off his thoughts. "It was a rhetorical question, anyway, asking you what's on your mind. I can read your thoughts when you're down here. And I was able to read your daughter's when she was here."

David froze. "Emma was here?" he asked, incredulous. He felt all the fight go out of him. "Emma's…" David couldn't finish the sentence. He was too late. He was too late to save her. He crumbled.

Jones took a careful step up to David and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Your daughter lives. I healed her and I sent her back to my lad." He met David's eyes. "She was badly hurt, though. Arthur would have killed her if he could. You have to stop him."

David dropped his sword to the ground in equal parts relief and acceptance. "Emma is alive? She's okay?"

"She's better than okay. I said I could read her thoughts, and that girl is properly smitten with Killian." Jones raised an eyebrow at Emma's father and gave him the same self-assured smirk he had seen a hundred time on Hook's face. "And who could blame her? We are indeed a good-looking family."

David snorted, then admitted: "Hook loves her, that is also certainly true. Even if he's not what I would have chosen for her…"

Here Jones cut him off with a flourish of his hand. "And why not, man? How many men do you think will happen along in your girl's life who will sacrifice and protect her the way my boy has? What sort of short-sighted arse are you, that you wouldn't choose such a man for her?"

David looked Killian's father up and down. "He is a pirate, and his father is a demon of the Underworld. I admit that gives me pause."

"Your opinion is moot now at any rate," Jones waved off the insult. "They are bound together forever by blood."

David looked flummoxed, again. Jones rolled his eyes. "I wasn't expecting an intellectual powerhouse in the pretty-boy prince, but even you can reckon out the consequences of a man and a woman in love, wandering for over a month through a land with no birth control."

"Emma's pregnant?" David gasped. He would kill Hook…

"Now, now, I told you that I could hear that," Jones warned. "And it really is entirely up to me whether I take you across that river or not. I won't hesitate, if I believe you will do anything other than defend the happiness of our children, and our grandchild. Emma loves Killian body and soul, and your job is to protect all that she loves."

David sat wearily on the stony ground. Jones was right. Emma loved the pirate, and she was carrying a baby now. He needed to get to his daughter even more urgently.

"Where do we find the Jolly Roger, and how do we pilot her back to the Enchanted Forest?"

Jones smiled. "Now, I can certainly help on both those points. I know exactly who has the Jolly Roger, and I've been wanting to see him down here for a very long time."

David leaned forward and accepted the hand that Jones offered and felt himself being pulled to his feet. "Good," said David. "I'll find Blackbeard and I'll send him down here to you. Then I'll go save our children."

"Now that, prince, sounds like a plan." Jones waved his hand and a long parchment appeared between his fingertips. "Sit down with me, and let me explain how to journey between realms on the Roger."

The two men talked into the night, and it was hours before Jones sent David blinking back into the light of Camelot, looking up into Snow's eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

By Thursday, Killian and Emma had swapped out the most offensive pieces of furniture. Emma had sourced an antique four-poster bed ("It's old, babe, just like you!") for them, Henry's bedroom and a guestroom had beds and sheets and blankets, and the godawful white coffee table was gone, along with the rest of the uber-modern weirdness and anything plastic, which Killian could not abide. Emma had moved in comfortable brown leather sofas reminiscent of her last apartment in New York, to make Henry feel more instantly at home. Killian had thrown himself into the technical instructions of working the Xbox, and could at this point probably dismantle it and reassemble it without looking, Emma thought. He had a knack for mechanics and engineering that made sense given his attention to detail on his ship, but she would never have foreseen being applied to electronics.

She came out of the shower one day and saw him looking at a schematic of a circuit board on his iPhone. She froze in the doorway, with her hair dripping onto the floor as she suddenly forgot all about drying it, because he was wearing reading glasses: black plastic frames that made him look the hottest intellectual she had ever laid eyes on. He looked up when he sensed her presence, his blue eyes stripping her appreciatively in her wet, near-naked state over the tops of those glasses.

"Since when do you wear glasses?" she asked in shock.

"Since I moved somewhere with an optometrist on the same block," he answered with a shrug. "Too many long nights reading by candlelight and compensating for the ship's movement. I should have bought some ages ago."

The transformation from pirate to modern man was so complete that Emma started hunting for clues to his former identity. But all she found was layer upon layer of love for her and concern that she take it easy and recover. And fucking reading glasses.

So Emma had stayed in bed or on the sofa, letting Killian supply fruit smoothies and chicken salads from a deli down the street. She was attempting to eat healthily, more for him than for the baby, as she remembered precisely the nature of prison-issue garbage she'd eaten when pregnant with Henry as an ignorant teenager, and he'd turned out fine. She took the vitamins the doctors had prescribed. She took the naps Killian insisted on. And by Day Three of this regime, she knew she had to rebel.

"Let's go for a walk through the park," she suggested. The late fall evening was unusually warm, and she needed to get out. She promised to go slow and tell him if she felt faint. But she managed to convince him that a bit of fresh air and exercise would be good for her, so he helped her into her coat. He pulled on a sweater over his t-shirt. She looked at it suspiciously, then ran the material between her fingers. Cashmere. Really? Emma shook her head.

Emma held onto his arm as the wandered aimlessly through the park, both because she loved snuggling into some part of his body, and because she still felt weaker than she wanted to admit. Autumn leaves were still filtering down through the branches and the sun was low and generous, given the time of year.

"So," Emma began slowly. Killian turned his head to her, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Seems like we're nesting."

"Nesting…" Killian looked flummoxed.

"Redecorating, ordering furniture, buying clothes…" she looked him up and down, running her fingers thoughtfully over the lapel of his blue, wool pea coat. Blue. Wool. "Connecting games systems to a television you hate."

"I thought that stealing everything in this realm could lead to more permanent consequences for us," he shrugged. "I know you always wanted to return here; this is your world. I thought," Killian paused, unsure how much to say, "I thought you might want to stay. At least until we can return to Storybrooke. It's safer here for the baby. You could find a midwife…"

"An Obgyn, actually," she corrected.

"Sure, a… whatever it is you called it that does the same fucking thing as a midwife, and thank you for correcting my out of date terminology while I'm pouring my heart out," he rolled his eyes. "I thought we could use a home, love, even if it turns out to be a temporary one. We don't have that, even in Storybrooke."

Emma stopped in her tracks, so he stopped with her. "Hold me," she asked quietly.

"I'm holding you plenty, Swan, what is it?" Killian braced himself for rejection by taking a half step away from her.

Emma put gripped his arm. "No, really, hold me, I feel faint again."

"Oh!" Killian scrambled to pull her close, supporting some of her weight. She sighed and sank her head down on his shoulder.

"Honestly, Killian, we will have a home together. When we get back to Storybrooke, and we will get back there, we'll find a house. Something near the ocean. Something as traditional as you. Old," she smiled at him. "Antique…."

"I'll drop you."

Emma shook her head against his shoulder. "You won't. You can't. All threats you make against me are empty." She lifted her head and looked directly into this eyes. "You will buy us a house, because I bring nothing of financial value into this relationship. Seriously, the Bug is it," she said.

"The Bug was stolen."

"All your money was stolen."

"Touch é. I was just more the talented thief," he smiled proudly.

"So you will buy us a house. You and Henry and I and the baby… or babies…" Killian's eyebrows shot up at that, "will live in it. Together. Forever." She put both hands on his face, stoking her thumbs across his scruff. "I will never leave you. You are my True Love, and you don't need to worry about me being all in. I am all in. Okay? You don't need to nest by stealth. You just need to tell me what you want."

"You, Swan. I want you. And Henry." He looked flushed and concerned, unwilling to ask for anything more, but unable to stop himself: "And… babies. Any we are lucky enough to have."

Emma rubbed her face against his shoulder again. She squared the mental image of Killian slicing off Arthur's hand with his sword with the man before her in Central Park, discussing babies, plural. "Let's take any and all babies one at a time, okay? But I'm open to the idea of more." She smiled when she saw the grin taking over his whole face. "I've been so afraid to ask anything for myself, afraid it will just get messed up. But I'm not afraid to ask it for you."

Killian dropped his face into her hair and kissed her neck, brushing aside her hair with his free hand. He realised that he was still holding her up, and that she seemed to be leaning on him more heavily.

"First, we'll need to eliminate Arthur. I'm sure by taking his hand, I've only made him more determined," Killian said. "We can nest all we like, but he'll show up here, sooner or later. We can't stand by forever and hope he gives up."

Emma nodded, yawning against him. She was snuggling so deep into his coat that he suddenly feared she might fall asleep right there on her feet.

"Let's get you home," he laughed, and steered her back in the direction of the park exit. They stumbled slowly along the main pathway, Killian looking up at the colours in the trees. It was just barely dark, and not a single star to admire, drowned out by the city lights. He jolted back into the present when he heard pounding footsteps behind them. Ever hyper-aware, Killian pulled Emma out of the way of man who was barrelling past, stumbling drunkenly and swaying across the whole of the walkway. Despite Killian's quick reaction, the man managed to shove Emma's shoulder, knocking her into a park bench.

Killian moved so fast that Emma couldn't quite work out how he did it. But the next thing she saw, the man was shoved up against the nearest tree, his feet off the ground, choking and gasping as Killian's arm cut off his air supply.

 _Hello, Hook_ , Emma thought. She had missed him, more than she realised, and she'd known he'd been hidden there beneath the Chucks and the cashmere sweater. Still, she needed to call him off. "Killian," she spoke softly, laying a steadying hand on his shoulder, "you cannot kill him. It's not done here. Not. At. All." She saw the man's eyes go wide with terror at her whispered words. "Let him down. I am fine. He's rude and drunk and thoughtless, but he did not intend to hurt me."

It took another beat for her words to sink in, but Killian released his forearm from the man's windpipe. Emma stepped forward and whispered to the terrified man, "If you call the police, I will tell them you tried to attack me. So don't even think about it." She stepped back behind Killian, who half-threw the man off the tree. He landed in the mud a few feet away, picked himself up and ran.

Emma slipped her arm around Killian's and persuaded him back onto the pathway towards 5th Avenue. His breathing steadied as she worked her fingers between the rings of his right hand. She could see the guilt and frustration in his face, much the same as when he'd over-reacted to Will's clumsy escape from the restaurant on their first date. She stopped him, and stepped slightly off the pathway, leaning against a tree trunk and pulling him in close. She needed to stop the recriminations that she knew were swirling through his mind before he sunk deeper into a mire of self-loathing.

"Hook," she breathed, and he looked into her eyes in complete shock at her use of that name. "Hook, take me back up to the apartment and let me thank you properly for looking out for me," she ran her hand seductively beneath his sweater and t-shirt, over his abdomen and up to his chest. Her fingers found a scar that ran down his ribs. She teased over it with the lightest of touches. "I love you, you know. Even if not all your choices are the right ones. You dispensation of justice won't be appreciated here; it will get you arrested. But I appreciate it." She looked directly into his eyes with a hungry, lustful gaze.

Killian brought his hand up to her face and trailed his thumb heavily along her jawline and towards her mouth. She opened her lips and licked, and he placed his thumb on the edge of her teeth. She bit down gently and sucked it softly into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. He pulled her back onto the path and hurried her up into the apartment building.

…

Emma spent the whole of Friday pacing the apartment. Killian managed to get her to sit down occasionally to rest by warning her that she would be a mess by the time Henry actually arrived if she didn't get off her feet. But from 7pm onwards, she was a bundle of nervous emotion and tears. He noticed the lights flicker once or twice. That should not be possible, he thought to himself. Emma should not have any magic here.

When Jonathan buzzed them to say their visitors had arrived, Emma ran out the door and waited, bouncing up and down, by the elevator. When the lift doors opened, she bulldozed into the elevator and grabbed Henry, spinning him around in what looked a very uncomfortable bear hug. Henry was all smiles, Regina swept towards the door of the apartment and Robin held the 'door open' button until Emma could be persuaded to let go of Henry long enough to walk into the apartment.

Emma and Henry sank down into one of the new sofas and lost themselves in conversation. Killian came over to shake the boy's hand, and got a hug in return, and a chorus of laughs all round over the fact that 'Hook' was no longer Hook.

Almost all round. Regina sat in an armchair by the window, tapping her foot and holding her tongue. She looked to Killian like a bomb about to go off. He had an uncomfortable feeling that he was the intended target.

When Emma and Robin followed Henry down the hallway to explore his new bedroom, Regina pounced:

"So, pirate, you've got her where you want her now."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, Your Majesty?" Killian was instantly on guard.

"How do you think Henry is going to feel about this baby?" she nearly spat. "Did you consider him at all?"

"You know very well that Emma would never do anything to hurt Henry. It's not like she has a limited amount of love to give and now Henry will get less. So have you told him that she's pregnant?"

"No, I'll leave it to you to explain that you dragged his mother to the Land Without Contraception and then couldn't keep it in your leather pants for one month," Regina hissed.

"How long after Robin's long lost wife reappeared did it take you to start fucking him again, Majesty? Was it a whole 24 hours?" Killian shot back. He could hear Emma's laughter floating down the hallway from Henry's room. The boy was telling some story, loudly, and she sounded over the moon. Killian made an effort to lower his voice. "Don't lecture me about respect for family."

Regina advanced on him. "You are lucky there's no magic in this realm, pirate. We all know you've been looking for a way to entrap Emma since you followed her up that beanstalk. I'm surprised to find you haven't shackled her to a bed."

"Maybe I have," he leered at the queen. "You don't know what you're missing."

"So much for you never taking a woman without consent. When it finally mattered, you took Forever After from her against her will."

Killian drew back, because that one landed true. "I never forced anything on Emma. Ever."

"You knew it was True Love. You knew what those fairies were up to. They can't see a glowing couple without finding a way to procreation. Did you tell Emma that?"

"Emma was well aware of the consequences of unprotected sex, Regina. They are the same in any world, fairies or no. No, I did not insult her intelligence by explaining to her that sex might lead to babies."

"There was no _might_ or _maybe_ about it. It was not a roll of the dice; it was a rigged game. Just your sort of game, pirate."

"Possibly, just maybe, she loves me, and wanted the consequences. As did I."

"Maybe, maybe not. Point being, _you didn't ask_. You just took what you wanted, Hook."

"Are you really that jealous, Majesty? So jealous you'll twist her happiness because you can't have what she came by so easily?"

Regina's face went bright red with rage at that. She picked up the heavy whiskey glass and balanced it in her hand like a fireball. She was just drawing back her arm when Robin and Emma walked through the door, laughing freely about a story Henry had just told them. Regina instantly rearranged the glass in her hand, and Killian turned into the kitchen so that Emma wouldn't see the anger on his face.

Regina forced a smile. "What are you two laughing about?"

"Regina, you have to come and see Henry's book collection. Killian bought him a library that Belle would be proud of," Robin chuckled. "Mate, you trying to buy the boy off?"

"Sounds about right," Regina quipped, bringing Killian back out of the kitchen, moving with a nonchalant stroll over to Regina.

He smiled broadly. "Keep 'em in line with bribery or fear, right, Your Highness?"

Emma caught the edge to his voice. That smile came nowhere near his eyes, nor did the one on Regina's lips. Robin seemed oblivious, so she let it slide. "Go on, Regina, Henry would love to show off for you, too," she said warmly.

Regina followed Robin back down the hallway, giving Emma's arms a squeeze as she passed. Emma was on Killian in a moment. "What's going on?" she whispered loudly, pulling him back towards the kitchen. "You two look ready to kill each other."

Killian's jaw ticked, a sure sign her was debating whether to tell her the truth or not. She turned her lie detector up to full volume as he answered. "She accused me of entrapping you with this baby. She said the fairies had every intention of making sure you were pregnant as soon as possible, and she… rightly… said I knew that would be the case. But I didn't tell you." He let out a breath. Emma sucked one in.

"Okay," she nodded. "You didn't tell me that. I didn't know that the next egg was all lined up and magically ready." Emma thought about it. "You know, I'm not even sure it's true. Do you really believe that, Killian? That the baby is a result of magic, and not the scientific meeting of egg and sperm? Or if it is a result of magic, surely it's our magic? I mean, I wouldn't have it any other way. We were having sex pretty much nonstop," she gave Killian a wicked little grin, and he responded in kind. "We were having sex because we were… we are… in love. If you'd told me, I wouldn't have … couldn't have… done anything differently." She shrugged. "I guess I'm having a hard time seeing fairies at work, and faulting you for not telling me fairies were at work, when the result was damn likely at any rate. If not this month, then next, or the one after that…"

Killian stared at her as she pondered out what he had been certain she would label his treachery. He had, for once in their relationship, told the whole ugly truth straight off, and it hadn't bitten him on the arse.

"I did not, at any point, set out to trick you," he said honestly. "And yes, I think if any magic was involved in the conception, it was ours. The fairies just arranged the soonest possible meeting of, as you so coldly put it, sperm and egg."

"That's not cold, it's just how it works! I am signing you up for a basic biology course, I swear. And they didn't arrange squat. We arranged it ourselves. Repeatedly," she wound her arms around his neck and stroked her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Killian decided to remain silent, as she was talking him out of trouble, and he didn't want to say the wrong thing and land himself in it.

"One big advantage of the fairies breaking the news to us so soon," and here Emma brought her lips seductively close to his earlobe, "is that I remember exactly how we made this baby. I remember every touch, every thrust, every way you made me scream your name." Killian remembered too, and at this moment the memories were causing him to harden against her body.

"And I don't know exactly what Regina said to you, but whatever you said to her crossed some sort of major line. You need to fix it. That is Henry's mother, sure as I am." Emma leaned her forehead against his. "Go. Grovel. Make this right with her." Emma kissed him. "I love you, and nothing of what you have just said makes any difference to my feelings."

"Also, just so you know… if I wanted out of this relationship, the baby wouldn't stop me. We could co-parent from separate homes. I am pregnant, not trapped." His whole body tensed at that. She kissed him again, teasing his lips apart and seeking his tongue with hers. He returned the kiss, tilting her head to seek more of her mouth, because he loved kissing her, and because if he was kissing her, he couldn't possibly say the wrong thing and fuck it all up.

"Gross," they heard Henry deadpan as he entered the kitchen. "I should not be subjected to that when I walk in to get a drink." Emma released Killian with a smile.

"Killian was just going to find Regina anyway, weren't you, _love_?" Emma said, walking over the fridge and locating the apple juice for Henry.

"Aye," Killian nodded, and walked out quickly, before he subjected the boy to physical evidence of the effect his mother had on Killian.

Henry leaned back against the kitchen counter while his mother poured him a tall glass of juice.

"So you and Hook? All moved in together?" Henry asked. Emma was about to explain, when Henry added: "Took you both long enough. That's been on a slow burn since Neverland." Henry tapped his head with his finger. "Not Hook anymore though. That's going to take some getting used to."

"You're okay with this?" Emma asked nervously.

"With Hook? Yeah, of course. He loves you, Mom, I mean really loves you. He'll look after you," Henry said seriously. "And you look after everyone else, so someone should look after you."

Emma couldn't hold it in any longer. She had meant to tell him with Killian there, together, but now that Henry was here, it seemed like she should have this conversation one on one with her son, so that he could react without worrying what Killian might think.

"Henry, there's more," she said cautiously. "Killian and I, we're umm, going to have a baby."

"Whoa…" Henry set the juice glass down on the countertop with a crack. "A baby? Now that does seem kinda fast…" He looked at her thoughtfully. "You don't look pregnant."

"It's very early, less than two weeks," she explained.

Henry's jaw worked a bit, and he stared at a spot on the tile floor. "So it will be like all those memories we had in New York, the ones that Mom gave us. Like when we were together the whole time. You're not going to give this baby up." It was a statement and didn't require a response. So Emma waited. "I'll get a little brother or sister." Another statement. Okay, he was doing pros and cons. "Are you happy?" he asked finally.

"Yes, Henry, I'm really happy. So is Killian. And we want to have a family, the four of us. You, me, Killian and the baby," she gushed. She hoped it wasn't too much. She probably should have finished at 'yes'.

"Good," Henry gave a nod of his head in finality. "Good, then. I'm… going to need to think about this a bit. But I'm happy. For you… and for me, too. And for Hook… Killian." Henry crossed the few steps over to Emma and hugged her. "I love you, Mom."

Emma hugged him back, tears immediately back in her eyes. "I love you, too, Henry."

Henry look up at her again. "I was wrong the other day, on the phone. It's not Killian making you cry. It's me." He hugged her again and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her speechless.

…

Killian escaped to the grocery store immediately after offering the sincerest apology he could muster to the Evil Queen, _who had killed her own father and whole villages of people, but nevermind, mustn't upset her_. He crossed the last few steps to the front door of the apartment and arranged his face into a happy-extended-family smile.

Beyond the door, he could hear conversation, so he hung back a moment.

Regina was speaking, in that sarcastic tone of hers: "He bought this apartment for you."

Emma's voice came next: "No, he bought it as an investment. He bought the whole building."

"It was an investment in you," Regina snapped back. "And you seem to be paying off."

Henry's voice interjected: "Mom, it's in your favourite neighbourhood, right near the school I was at. I think it's great that he bought this for you."

Robin's voice came next: "Regina, why is it a problem? Killian was trying to help secure their future. At the time he bought it, he didn't know if Emma was going to choose to come back to New York with Henry or not."

Killian felt the rage building in him again. He couldn't believe he'd wasted one of his rare, precious apologies on that woman.

Then he heard Emma's sharp answer: "What has he done wrong, except love me, Regina? Why is everyone treating that as some sort of dark, ulterior motive? Killian loves me. I love him. So he bought me an apartment, bought _us_ an apartment. Good, seeing as I'm currently living in it. I expect when we get back to Storybrooke he will buy us a house. I'm pretty sure he'd buy me anything I like, and the same for Henry, because he has no 'off' switch when it comes to us. Lucky me. Why, Regina, are you trying to undermine my happy ending?"

Silence. Then he heard Regina, very calmly: "Because I'm worried about you Emma. Because I want the very best for you, and for Henry. And I was worried that a pirate was not the best. I think… I hope… I was wrong."

Killian chose that moment to walk back in with an armload of groceries. "Oi, lad, give us a hand with these bags," he called to Henry, acting as though he had heard nothing. He saw Regina and Emma struggling out of a hug, both wiping at their eyes.

Henry vaulted over the sofa and into the relative emotional stability that was hauling shuttling groceries into the kitchen.

Regina then walked straight over to Killian and stood in front of him, as though lost in thought. Could he hit her if she went for him? Would that make Emma angry? Possibly better just to take whatever she was going to throw…

And then it happened. Regina hugged him. "Just make her happy," she whispered to him. Killian was in far too much shock to hug her back. Regina took a step back and considered him again. She turned to Emma.

"Is the pirate captain wearing cashmere?" she asked.

Emma laughed. "Oh my God! That's exactly what I thought this morning." Emma took Regina's arm in hers and sat them down on the sofa. "Do you know he has reading glasses?"

Killian blinked and looked over at Robin. Robin simply looked at Killian and said, "Did you buy beer?"

He had.

"Then let's drink."


	17. Chapter 17

Will had no trouble summoning back the Jolly Roger. Blackbeard was a simple soul, motivated by greed and not much else. When they put out the word that strangers were in town, desperate for a magical ship that could transport them to another realm and willing to pay anything, Blackbeard delivered himself.

Blackbeard's agent gave the word and a deal was struck. So early on a clear morning, Belle, Will, Snow and David stood on the docks, watching the horizon. David pulled out a spyglass and finally spotted the top of the mainsail. He breathed in sharply. Snow silently took it from him and looked for herself. She felt tears at the back of her eyes, the ship so familiar in this strange land, and because it felt so close to Emma. She could almost see Hook at the wheel, and Emma close beside, even though she knew the ship no longer belonged to Hook. She felt more conflicted about the fact that perhaps Emma belonged to him now, instead.

They waited, reviewing their plans, as the Jolly Roger pulled up to the docks.

Will whistled. "I'd forgotten what a beautiful creature she is."

Belle smiled. "Well, we need to get her back to Hook. You ready to steal an enchanted ship, thief?"

"That I am," he replied, stepping forward to catch a rope and help tie the ship to the dock.

David and Snow couldn't recognise any of the men on board as Hook's crew. Blackbeard must have replaced them all, which made things more difficult as they would have to sail the ship entirely alone. Jones had given David precise instructions, and promised help, but David had still secretly been hoping that one of the sailors loyal to Hook would have survived on Blackbeard's crew.

The pirate appeared at the top of the gangplank, all swagger and bravado, a self-satisfied smirk above his dirty beard. Snow felt her fingertips twitching for her bow and arrow; she wanted to put one right through his depraved heart, knock him clean off this ship that belonged to her family. Ever since David had woken from his conversation with Davy Jones, told her that Emma was pregnant, Snow had completely given herself over to the idea of Hook as family. He was the father of her grandchild, now, and Emma's love.

And now his enemy, and therefore her enemy, was blocking access to the Jolly Roger.

"Are you the lot called for me?" Blackbeard called down to them.

David stepped forward. "That's us. We were told your ship could make the journey to another realm. Must say, looking at her… I'm not so sure it's true."

Blackbeard bristled, his hand moved to his sword. "She's the fastest ship in all the realms, made of…" David mentally tuned out the rest of Blackbeard's speech. He'd heard it all before, and from a better orator. David needed the ship on open water, where Jones would be waiting.

"We need to get to the Enchanted Forest," David cut off Blackbeard's speech. "Can you do it or not."

"Of course I can!" he blustered.

"Here's what we're willing to pay," David assented, nodding to Will. Will stepped up the gangplank to Blackbeard, handing over a heavy bag of gold coins that Mairead had stolen from the treasury.

Blackbeard's eyes shone. He looked his passengers up and down. Two couples, likely little trouble, he assessed. "Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger," he stepped back and waved his arm toward the deck.

"We need to leave straight away," Snow proclaimed as she stepped on board, Will helping her down from the gangplank as David took stock of the crew.

"Certainly, my lady. We can be underway as soon as the water kegs are loaded. Thirty minutes, no more."

Snow looked warily over at the docks. In the two weeks they had waited for Blackbeard to return with the Jolly Roger, Belle had found pockets of resistance to Arthur, swearing loyalty to the myth of Killian Jones. People believed him to be Arthur's son and heir. Many wanted the tyrant Arthur deposed in favour of the son that none of them had ever seen. Now Snow worried that Arthur's knights might find them out, treat them as traitors, stop them leaving, or kill them.

An hour passed achingly slowly, but eventually Blackbeard gave the order and the ship pulled away from the docks. Snow looked back at the docks; she saw no sign of anyone looking for them. She patted the knife strapped to her thigh, out of sight beneath her dress. Now to get out on the sea and send that bastard Blackbeard straight to Hook's father.

…

Regina let Henry stay. For two glorious weeks, Emma had a home with her son and she woke to Killian in her arms every morning. They ate every meal all together. They talked and laughed and plotted. She loved this life beyond measure, even if she knew it was on temporary loan.

Emma felt recovered from the stabbing; she had her energy back. Her hormones were still all over the place, though, and both Killian and Henry kept their heads down when they saw a mood approaching. They both segued straight into appeasement mode, agreeing to anything she suggested and handing over anything she wanted until the storm passed. Henry grumbled about how long this was likely to last.

"You've known her longer than I have, lad. I assumed this might be the permanent state of affairs."

"Kinda," Henry admitted, "But this is much worse."

One morning, she awoke to find Killian gone from the bed; it was the first time in weeks he had not been there, tangled against her body, when she opened her eyes. She panicked, threw on some clothes, and rushed into the living room.

There sat Henry and Killian on the Persian rug in front of the sofa. They looked up at her, grinning in delight, surrounded by a jumble of electrical components.

"Killian took apart my laptop!" Henry cried jubilantly. He looked like he'd never had so much fun in his life; an adult had allowed his to open up an expensive computer with a screwdriver and pull it all apart. "We wanted to see how it worked."

Emma sucked in a breath. Regina would not be pleased with this. That was Henry's laptop for homework, sent specifically with him to keep up with school. Emma knew that they… well, Killian – how easy was it to think that what was his was also hers? – could afford another computer. Still, somehow she could smell the disapproval all the way from the mayoral mansion in distant and still unattainable Storybrooke.

"If I understand this correctly," Killian cocked his head to one side, "we should be able to swap out this board for a more powerful one and it will be better than new." His eyes shone as he and Henry noted down the correct position of every piece they dismantled.

Emma had her back to the door frame, panting through her panic.

"You okay over there, Swan?" Killian asked, studying her breathing.

"Fine, yeah, you just weren't there when I woke up, and I guess I sort of freaked out."

"Sorry, my love. Henry and I had made plans to fix the laptop, is all. You need your sleep."

Emma nodded slowly. The boys returned to their project, and she walked into the kitchen to make herself some tea and calm down. By the time she showered and dressed, she found them at the dining table, pouring over research on Arthur and Merlin, surrounded by books, shoving a notebook back and forth between them as they took notes. The remains of the laptop were carefully stored in marked plastic bags on the coffee table. Apparently reassembly was a job for another day.

Research. Emma had tried to channel Belle, honestly she had. She had spent days in the public library, a museum of books, to find out all she could about Arthur and the even more mysterious Merlin. Regina said the spell to open the portal had his fingerprints all over it, magic so rare and pure that she could not unpick its locks. But research had never been Emma's strong point. Hook read, often and in great quantity, with the stylish black glasses perched atop his nose. Emma rested her head on his lap in the evenings, sprawled out on the sofa, watching crap television while he read tome after tome of world history books, marvelling that none of this alternate realm's stories were known in his world.

Except for Arthur. Tales of Camelot existed in The Land Without Magic as something more than just fairytales - perhaps legends, something touching on the historical. Every day of these last two weeks, he and Henry would sit across from each other at that dining table, books and photocopies of 'reference-only' materials spread out before them, filling the notebook. Emma would slide quietly into a seat, attempt to read, but even more quietly give up after 20 minutes, too mind-numbingly bored to continue. This morning, Emma yawned loudly after 10 minutes, and started playing with her pen, tapping it against the book. Killian and Henry both looked at her, entirely unimpressed.

"Love, why don't you go for a run?" Killian suggested.

"Don't you need me here to help?" Emma asked, a bit hurt.

"No," they answered together.

Emma sighed. They didn't need – or want – her. She felt her emotions starting to tumble out of her control, and combined with the earlier scare, she began to tear up. Through her tears, she saw Henry rap the table to get Hook's attention.

"She's crying."

"Was it you or me?"

"You're the last one who really said something. You told her to go for a run. Musta been you." Henry looked back down at his book, divesting himself of involvement.

Emma felt the tears falling and she could do nothing to control them; she quickly returned to their bedroom and changed into her running gear. The tears kept coming. She stuck her head into the closet, rummaging for running shoes and popping on the earbuds she'd plugged into her phone. She closed her fist around the cell phone, only to feel a jolt of electricity run through it. The screen went blank. It had shorted out.

She had no further time to examine it. She felt herself being pulled gently out of the closet. Killian had caught up with her and was tugging her towards the bed.

"Love," he said, drawing her down onto his lap. She could hear effort in his voice as he levelled his tone into one of patient enquiry, "tell me what's wrong."

She hiccupped; she was holding back the sobbing to that extent. "Henry hates me. He thinks he makes me cry."

"Henry thinks that you're pregnant and emotionally messy and it's all a bit gross. I had to look that word up online after he said it. He's 13. He doesn't want to think too much about his mother's hormones and yet they're rather difficult to escape at the moment."

Emma just hiccupped in response.

"Nothing's wrong here, darling, you know that, right?" He took her wet face in his hands and tried, unsuccessfully, to get her to look at him rather than the buttons on his shirt. "Henry loves you. I love you. God help us, the Evil Queen loves you." That brought a tiny flicker of a smile. "Regina said this baby might have some odd effects on you. He or she might be magical, like you." Killian kissed a tear that threatened to drip off the end of her chin. "And magic is unpredictable here." Emma let him kiss her. "Do you think sex might help?" he murmured.

"Mmmm. Yes," she sighed, as his hands began exploring her breasts. He didn't say anything to Emma, but he'd already noticed them growing larger, and he relished finding some way to check them every day. Several times, some days. "But Henry's in the other room…"

"True, my love. Do you think slaying something might help? I'm not sure where I'll find you a dragon in Manhattan, but I'll search. For you. To make you feel better," he was kissing his way down the neckline of her running top, his hands having already made their way under her sports bra. He managed to get her top and bra over her head. He could feel himself harden – they were definitely bigger today, he felt certain, if only he could get his mouth on one, then he'd know – and his tongue hesitated just above one perfect nipple. Almost there…

"We can't do this with Henry wide awake at the dining room table," she protested, rather weakly. Killian ignored that as not a serious enough objection. He slid his waiting tongue over her nipple and felt it harden to a peak beneath his taste buds. Her skin tasted luscious. Emma moaned out his name, loudly, well loudly enough for Henry to hear. They heard a book slam shut, then "Gross!", then another door slamming, presumably his bedroom. Hook took this to mean they were in the clear and he should slip off her leggings. Killian knew better. He released her breasts and stood up from the bed, collecting her clothing and handing it back.

"I'll go talk to him," he kissed her again. "Go for a run. You'll feel better."

Emma nodded. She pulled her clothes back on and headed for the door. She dropped her broken phone atop the pile of laptop components on the coffee table. Maybe Killian could fix it, she thought with a smile.

…

Killian paused at Henry's bedroom door. He took a deep breath and knocked.

"Are you two dressed?" Henry called out sarcastically.

"Henry… your mother has gone out for a run. May I enter?"

The door opened. Henry looked annoyed more than angry. "Don't worry, Killian. I'm getting pretty used to dodging adults having sex. You and Mom, my other Mom and Robin, grandma and grandpa…" He sighed. "At least Belle and Mr Gold split up."

Killian decided that an apology and a quick change of subject formed a good strategy. "I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable, lad. We will be more aware of it in future." He paused for a brief moment. "Do you want to cart some of these books back to the library and see what else we can find?"

Henry grinned and jumped of the bed, happy for an excuse to forget about the 'adult problem'.

"I'll collect all the books," he said.

Killian rounded up his coat, keys, phone and wallet, then led Henry down to the street. Jonathan was on the door, looking a bit worse for wear.

"Jonathan, I think Emma's gone out without her keys," Killian said. "Could you let her in if she's back before us? Also, are you all right?"

"Absolutely," he smiled. "I'll take care of Ms Swan when she returns. Off to the library again, Henry?"

Henry nodded at the doorman started off up the street. He still had no idea how to interact with someone whose job it was to guard the front door of the building. The whole idea creeped him out a bit, or maybe it was just that Jonathan looked a bit creepy today. Killian caught up to him and they walked together towards the library, summarising what they'd found so far and looking for clues on what to do next.

"Why do you think she's still with him?" Henry asked.

"Who?"

"Guinevere. Everything we read has her as this headstrong, independent woman, not even noble, who falls in love with Lancelot because he is brave and honourable and honest. The opposite of her husband, who is cold and controlling and obsessive. So why does she stay with Arthur?"

"Love? Power?"

"Maybe, but if she really loved Lancelot, why stay with Arthur? And she just doesn't sound like he power-hungry type. She never sought it. She married Arthur when he had nothing. So what else made her stay?"

"Blackmail. Threats. Enchantment," Killian ticked off the list of possible causes when anyone does anything out of character.

"It must be something. I don't think she's there of her own free will. Maybe that's some sort of weakness for Arthur. That his Queen is only loyal because he's drugged her or threatened her or something. Maybe she could help us."

"Good thinking, lad. We'll need to get to Guinevere to find out, though."

"Are you going to stay in this realm?" Henry asked nervously. "Are you taking my Mom away again?"

"I didn't exactly take her away last time, Henry. Arthur wants me dead, and now he wants your Mom dead, and he pulled us both into a portal to do it. And you and I are doing our best to find a way to stop him," Killian said honestly.

"So is your Dad really Davy Jones?" Henry asked.

"So your mother tells me. I don't have much memory of my father. Couldn't pick him out of a line up. She seemed pretty certain, though."

"None of us had very straightforward childhoods, did we?" Henry said, but it wasn't a question.

"No, we sure didn't."

They reached the library. "I'll go take the books back and look around for more. I know you want to get back to Mom." Henry smiled at him. "You make her really happy."

"So do you, Henry," Killian smiled.

Henry nodded and climbed the stops to the library. Killian watched him for a moment, then headed back towards the apartment building. Maybe he'd have enough time for a more thorough investigation of Emma's breasts…

…

From a bench at the entrance to the library, the knight watched Killian and Henry part ways. He turned this information over in his mind. Arthur had never mentioned another child of Killian's, but here he was with a nearly grown boy, dark hair, tall… Killian Jones had a son already, one Arthur didn't even know about. The knight knew exactly what he had to do. Killian disappeared into the crowd on the street, heading away from the building that looked like a temple. The boy walked up the steps and through the doors. Gawain followed.

…

Emma sensed someone following her before she saw anyone. Not long before, but enough time to manoeuvre herself towards a crowded café full of witnesses. The danger might be New York criminal, or it might be one of Arthur's legions. She had to be prepared for either.

She knew the answer immediately when she heard the scrape of metal on a scabbard. A knight. She heard screams, saw the crowd near part around her. She stood still, staring down the man with the sword. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt - here in The Land Without Magic long enough for a costume change, she thought - but he still wore a sword belt. He rushed at her, but blindly, clearly expecting little in the way of evasive tactics. Emma tensed, watching his eyes flicker as he ran at her, sword raised. She dodged to the side at the last moment, the sword missing her entirely, the knight stumbling wildly to the ground. She pounced, pinning his sword to the ground and pounding her foot into his hand until he loosened his grip. She kicked him in the head and grabbed the sword. She held it to his throat with practised ease.

"Don't move. I will run you through, and a whole crowd of witnesses will call it self-defence," she hissed at him.

The crowd had their phones out, everyone dialling 911. Emma knew she had to get away, and she couldn't kill him if lay still. She turned on her heel and took off through the park at top speed, stopping briefly by a pond to throw the sword away. She didn't hear footsteps behind her. But if a knight had found her, another would have found Killian. And maybe Henry. She ran for the apartment as fast as she could.

…

Henry made it as far as the reference desk before noticed someone following him. The man looked out of place: his dark hair too long, his sweater and coat fit wrong, he seemed uncomfortable in himself. Killian and his Mom had warned him that Arthur and his knights had no fear of being caught; they would strike mercilessly. He ducked into a thick crowd of tourists on a library tour, dropped to the ground and crawled into the bookstacks, unseen by the knight. Looking back through the books, he could see the man pause and take in his surroundings, his eyes searching.

Henry dropped again and crawled to a stairway. He hurried up the steps two at a time and came out three floors up. He sought out a secluded stack of periodicals and hunkered down. Henry tried to quiet his breathing; he inhaled and exhaled evenly. He tried his mother's phone again, but still no answer. He knew that this knight would have no problem with killing him in front of witnesses, so seeking out a crowd wouldn't help.

Henry also knew that he had two advantages: first, the knight had chosen to corner him in a building he knew like the back of his hand, every fire exit, every dead end of stacked books, every elevator and staircase and quiet study room.

Second, and most importantly, he had Captain Hook on speed dial.

…

Emma made it back to the apartment, having apparently lost the man who had tried to kill her. At the door there was no sign of Jonathan. Her heart raced. She knew he'd been there when she'd left.

She stole into the lobby and found the stairs, quickly running up to the apartment. She stopped at the top to even out her breathing and to listen. She heard the unmistakable sound of a fight, a clash of metal on metal. She burst out of the doors of the stairwell and through the open door to the apartment. Two knights already lay on the floor of the living room, unblinking, and Killian was facing down a third, the broadsword of one of the knights in his hands. He was covered in blood, and whether it was his or theirs, Emma wasn't quite sure. The final knight grinned at Killian.

"Do you know what they have in this Land, pirate?" The knight pulled out a gun. "I've been practising with these. Want to see what it can do?"

"Good for you," Killian snarked. "Playing with the magic of a realm you do not understand."

The knight noticed Emma standing in the doorway.

"Look, pirate, I don't even need to shoot you first. I can show you how this is done, and you can watch your lover die."

Killian threw himself at the knight. The knight shot at him point blank.

Emma didn't think. She held out her hands and summoned every magical thread within her. Light pulsed from her fingertips, stopping the bullet dead in its tracks before it could reach Killian. It dropped harmlessly to the Persian rug. She turned the rest of her force on the knight and knocked him back against the wall. The gun went off his hands again, the bullet lodging in the wall near the television.

She advanced on him, cutting off his air supply, choking him slowly. Killian got there first, running him through with the sword before Emma could take another life.

Killian kicked the knight's body off the sword. "I just got a call from Henry. He's at the library. Someone's after him."

Emma's eyes went wide with fear. "Henry… oh my God, Killian. We have to get to him."

"These are dead," he jerked his head towards the bodies on the floor. "Two more in our bedroom."

"One attacked me in the park," she said, starting out the door already, Killian behind her, running down the stairs. "Injured, not killed."

"And at least one more in the library with Henry."

Killian abandoned the sword at the bottom of the stairs. He couldn't run through the streets of New York covered in blood, chasing a woman in running gear, with a sword in his hands. They hit the street and kept running the few blocks to the library, ignoring all strange looks and setting off up the stairs to the last location Henry had texted to Killian.

They slowed at the top of the stairs, eyes scanning the bookstacks as the edged along the main corridor. The knight was easy to spot. They must have sent the least skilled man after Henry. Emma tried to spark up her magic again, but it wouldn't cooperate.

"The magic's gone again," she shook her head.

"I don't know how it was here in the first place, but it's not the first sign I've seen of it," Killian whispered. "We'll take this one down without magic."

She nodded. They saw the knight approaching the final stack of books, looking at the open window that Henry had already fled out of and onto a fire escape. As the knight ducked to squeeze through the window, Emma slammed his head into the wall with a heavy book. Killian bashed the dagger out of the man's hand and used it to slice open his throat. Emma closed her hand in the sleeve of her jacket, lifting the blade without touching it to her fingers. She wiped Killian's prints off the handle and dropped it to the ground next to the knight.

Killian and Emma climbed onto the fire escape and ran to the bottom, where Henry was waiting. He ran into Emma's arms and then hugged Killian just as fiercely.

"Are you okay?" Emma asked, holding Henry's head in her hands and searching him all over for signs of injury.

"I'm fine, Mom."

"We have to get back to the flat and make this mess disappear," she said. "We have to find Jonathan; he was missing and I'm worried. And we have to get out of New York. Much longer and we'll all end up in prison, where Arthur can find us and kill us. God only knows what CCTV footage this place has."

They made their way back to the apartment as quietly as possible. Killian stole a coat from an unattended chair in a café, covering up the blood on his clothes. The door to the apartment building was still unmanned. They took the stairs to the penthouse and found the door still wide open, the bodies gone, and Jonathan busy cleaning up the last remains of the blood.

"Jonathan…" Killian didn't know where else to go with that statement. Surely the man should be phoning the police? Killian paid him well, but not enough to cover up what must look like mass murder. Henry and Emma stood shocked and uncertain behind Killian, just inside the apartment.

Jonathan waved his hand towards the front door; it shut and locked behind them, sealing them into the flat. "The evidence is gone," the doorman said, "both here and at the library. Ms Swan didn't leave any in the park."

"Jonathan…" Emma began, but she didn't get much further. "What… I don't understand."

"Strangest thing happened to me this morning, Ms Swan, just after you left for your run. A man with a sword came up to me. Didn't say a word, just ran me through." Henry looked shocked. He looked sick. Emma put her arms around him. "Then I found myself on this crazy, desolate river shore… I'll spare you the details. But you are clear here. There won't be a police investigation."

Jonathan swept his red-rimmed eyes around the room. He dusted his hands off on his trousers. "Oh, and Mr Jones," he smiled at Killian. "Your father sends his regards."

With that, Jonathan disappeared in a puff of grey smoke.

…

The sun had risen enough for Will to be squinting in the light as he watched Blackbeard stalk down from the helm. The pirate had abandoned his place at the wheel as quickly as practicable after they left the harbour, glad to be free of any real responsibility for sailing the ship so that he could interrogate his passengers more thoroughly. Will could sense Blackbeard's cockiness; he knew the pirate planned to betray them somehow, and had been waiting for open ocean for his chance. They were over an hour from land now. Will tensed, waiting for Blackbeard's next move. He melted into the background, letting David and Snow take the limelight.

So when two pirates grabbed Belle and dragged her to the mast with knives at her ribs, he wasn't entirely surprised. Blackbeard sauntered up to Belle and ordered the men to tie her wrists.

"So, prince," he called, indicating David. "We're a long way from shore, and Arthur's queen has paid me a lot of money to get rid of you. I'm going to start with her," he indicated Belle with a twist of his head, "unless we can come to a more profitable arrangement."

David gave Blackbeard his broadest, most princely smile. He drew his sword and threw open his arms in invitation. Blackbeard drew his as well, pointing it towards Belle rather than the prince.

"Not in the mood for a sword fight today, prince," he said. "I'd rather just get on with either the killing or the payment."

Snow wasted no time. She nocked her arrow and fired, almost without bothering to aim, the shot was so open and simple. It found the pirate's blackened heart, and he fell forward onto the deck. Will had the crew member nearest Belle by throat, a dagger in his ribs, and David held the next closest at swordpoint. The rest of the crew froze, deciding whether to fight the strangers of simply down tools.

Their decision was made for them by a puff of red smoke. It appeared quickly and dissipated just as fast, leaving in its wake a tall man with dark, greying hair and sharp, blue eyes. He was dressed in a sweeping red coat over simple black trousers and a black linen shirt. His eyes creased in amused satisfaction at the sight of Blackbeard bleeding onto the deck of the Jolly Roger. He crossed the deck, men fighting each other to get out of his way as the demon made his way towards toward the body. He gave it a prod with his heavy, black boots. His smile blossomed over his features, the eyes shining with good humour. He turned to Snow.

"Well done, Your Highness," he nodded approvingly. "No dramatics, just get the job done right. I like your style. Direct and effective." He yanked the arrow out of the body and passed his hand over it. The blood disappeared. He turned the arrowhead towards himself and handed it politely across the deck to Snow. "Yours, I believe, my queen. No need to waste a perfectly good arrow on this rubbish."

Snow reached out to accept the arrow. As soon as she grasped it, Jones pulled sharply, causing her to stumble towards him. He held out his other hand and she caught it, holding herself upright. Jones took the opportunity to raise her hand to his lips and place a formal kiss across her knuckles, holding her astonished gaze.

"Davy Jones, at your service, Your Majesty," he smiled with intent.

David cleared his throat and gave Jones a hard stare.

"Forgive me, Prince," Jones bowed to him. "But she is indeed the fair mother of a beautiful daughter, and you cannot blame a man for paying her due attention."

"Wow," was all Snow managed to say, not letting go of his hand straight away. She continued to take in Jones, all hard lines and stylish sexiness. She swayed slightly. She looked over at Belle, still tied against the mast, and saw clearly that Belle was similarly overcome by the man before them. Her mouth was hanging slightly open.

Jones caught the shift in her gaze and crossed the short distance to Belle. He stood behind her and passed his arm across the ropes that held her. They slipped away, and he stepped close enough to press his chest into her back. "Better, my dear?" he whispered into her ear. Belle closed her eyes and nodded, panting slightly at the contact.

"All right, Jones, that'll do," Will said tetchily, reaching out to pull Belle towards him.

"Ah, Mr Scarlett. I cannot believe we haven't met before. Have you been cheating me?" Jones leant his head to one side, regarding the thief.

"Never once," Will shot back. "Now stop torturing the womenfolk and tell us what's next."

Jones laughed at that. He stood over Blackbeard again and looked over the dead pirate. "Can't have him mucking up the deck of my son's ship," he said. Jones waved his hand across the body and it crumbled to dust in front of the astonished crew. "You," he ordered the man who had tied Belle's hands, "clean up this mess now. The rest of you, ready this ship for a voyage to cross realms."

The crew began moving at speed and with purpose, readying the sails and cleaning the deck of all signs of neglect.

Jones looked over at Snow and Charming, standing together by the railings.

"Ready to head out, Charming?" he called.

David nodded. "Go on then, Jones. Show us the way."

Blackbeard's first mate stepped forward. "The ship is ready. Where are we headed, sir?" he asked Jones.

Jones gave the Roger's mast a comforting pat. "We're going to find her captain."


	18. Chapter 18

Regina was out the door of the mayoral mansion so fast that Robin and Roland barely had time to say goodbye. "Stay here," she kissed him. "Watch the town. I don't know where I'm headed or how long this will take."

Emma had hung up not 10 minutes earlier with the whole tale. The knights had found them. At least one was still alive, and they knew for certain that Arthur had found them again. They also knew that Davy Jones had found them. Emma seemed to think that a relief, but Regina did not like the thought of her son tangling with the Underworld. She threw a hastily-packed suitcase into the car and drove off towards New York. Robin waved at the dust thrown up by her tyres, shaking his head.

He rang Killian. "She's on the way, mate."

Killian groaned. "How long have I got?"

"At the speed she drove out of here, she'll either be with you before midnight, or she'll be arrested for reckless driving before she gets there. So you'd better have a plan in place fast. Any thoughts?"

Killian let out a breath. "Back to the Enchanted Forest. We need to kill him, Robin. It's the only way. I'm just not sure how we're going to get there. We would have stayed before, but Emma needed a hospital."

"Regina has the fairy dust Emma asked for, fresh from Blue," Robin said. "Can you go back the way you came?"

"I don't think so. Emma has some magic here, but it's very unpredictable. Regina doesn't have any. And I don't think fairy dust alone will be enough."

"Yeah, well, good luck with that. And don't send her back here in a rage."

"Thanks, mate," Killian laughed. He hung up and turned to Henry. "Your Mom's on the way from Maine."

"Oh, great. Just what we need. She's gonna be _pissed_ ," he said, shaking his head.

Emma set a hastily ordered pizza on the dining table for them. She had rung Regina almost as soon as Jonathan had disappeared in whirl of smoke out of their living room. Despite the clean-up, she could almost see the taped-out shapes of bloodied bodies in her head. She thanked God - or perhaps more rightly the devil – for removing all traces of blood before Henry saw it. Regina could take him back to Storybrooke, where she had magic to protect him.

She felt sick about Jonathan. Their doorman, murdered, yet bizarrely still just downstairs, accepting pizza deliveries and packages for the building's residents so that no one would question his absence. He could also keep an otherworldly eye on comings and goings around the building. Did he have a family? Who was missing him? Emma shuddered. She hoped that Henry wasn't thinking about it, but she knew that he was.

She hadn't noticed that she was pacing until Killian stood in her path and stopped her in her tracks.

"You're frightening the boy, Swan," he said softly.

Henry called from his bedroom, where he was packing up, "Yeah, Mom, you're frightening the boy!" He poked his head out the door of his room. "I am kinda freaked." Emma walked over and hugged him, like he was still 10 or 11. He looked like he needed it, and if Henry was honest, he did.

Killian pulled out a chair for Henry. "Come on, lad, let's eat something and discuss our plan."

Henry let go of his mother and took a seat at the table. He helped himself to pizza as though nothing had happened. Emma took a slice that Killian noticed she didn't touch. She drank the cup of tea he had made her. Emma was clearly shaken; it looked to Killian that she was on the edge of a meltdown, and he just hoped it would wait until Henry was safely back in Maine. They hadn't told him quite how bad things had looked in the living room and the library. He hadn't actually seen blood, other than on Killian.

Henry spent the meal quietly regarding Killian across the table. He'd spent two weeks with the man, tearing part electronics for fun and studying every book on Camelot they could find. He liked Killian. He thought of Killian a bit like he thought of Robin, but Robin blended far more easily into 'substitute father' role than Killian. Robin's past wasn't murderous and dark, and his present certainly wasn't. Henry knew, logically, that his adoptive mother had done things far, far worse than Captain Hook ever had. But Captain Hook was the only member of his family he had seen covered in someone else's blood. And that was just this morning.

They spent the afternoon in their own worlds: Henry packing, Emma watching Henry pack from her seat on his bed, and Killian plotting out the best way to murder his wannabe father.

…

Regina swept in at nearly midnight. Jonathan, no longer needing sleep, was still on the door. He'd sent his shift replacement home. Regina knew straight away that the doorman was not among the living. She rushed up to the apartment, anxious to get Henry into the car and back to a place where her magic could protect him. She felt nervous that legions of the undead were now protecting her son.

"Regina!" Emma practically fell into her arms. Killian and Henry were huddled on the sofa trying to forget everything by focussing on the Xbox. Emma was shaking slightly. She hadn't eaten all day and still had no desire for food. Regina noticed that both Emma and Killian were wearing swords at their hips.

"Emma, I know Killian will have told you this a hundred times today already, but you need to eat something. You have the baby to think of, as well." She ushered Emma into the kitchen. Regina threw open the cupboards and the fridge. "What might you eat?"

Emma picked up a yoghurt from the fridge and Regina found her a spoon. "Just eat this, and I'll stop nagging, okay?" Emma ripped off the plastic and started eating. She could feel Killian's eyes on her from across the room, and she knew he had texted Regina and asked her to get Emma to eat something. He relaxed into the sofa next to Henry.

"Are you feeling sick?"

"A little bit, but I'm not sure if it's the stress or morning sickness."

"How far along are you now?"

"Not even 4 weeks."

Regina sighed. "Probably stress. Emma, I'm so sorry. This should be a happy time for you."

Emma shrugged. "It just never works out that way. I can't even keep Henry safe." She started crying. Regina hugged her and let her cry.

"Emma, you are the best and bravest mother. Other than me," she smiled. "You rescued our son from certain death this morning." She looked over Emma's shoulder at Killian, shoulders tensed and still resolutely staring at the Xbox with Henry. Regina suddenly wished she'd brought Robin along. Killian probably needed as much support as Emma did, and he would never admit it, least of all to her. Killian and Henry switched off the game and called Emma and Regina over to the sofas with them.

It was late into the night now, and Regina agreed to sleep the night in the guest bedroom and leave in the morning for Storybrooke with Henry. Emma settled herself against Killian. Regina watched the pirate settle his hand over her belly as he let her to lean back on his chest. It cost him something every time he let her wander out of his sight.

"What will you do, Mom?" Henry asked Emma.

"Try to find a way back to the Enchanted Forest, Henry. We have to find Arthur. We have to end this."

Killian opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Jonathan's voice. Everyone on the sofas jumped in utter shock.

"Ms. Swan, Mr Jones, Master Henry," Jonathan announced, bowing dramatically, a tiny glimpse of grey smoke disappearing around his feet. "Davy Jones requests your presence at the harbour, as soon as possible. Tonight." Jonathan noticed Regina. "Oh, well, Your Majesty. I am certain that he would love to see you, too. You particularly."

Regina snorted in annoyance. She addressed Jonathan: "I understand – sort of – how Emma used magic in the A Land Without It. But you… how are you managing it?"

"Death and its minions exist in every land, Your Majesty, even in the ones that try to deny it as strenuously as this one."

Henry balked. "Killian's Dad is at the docks? Why?"

Jonathan smiled his slightly disturbing grin at the boy. "He wants to meet all of you. He says he has a way to keep you all safe."

Killian pulled Emma closer. "I don't think this is a good idea…"

Emma turned around in his arms and looked him in the eyes. "If your father has come here, and has found a way to meet us in this world, it's serious. And he does want to protect us, Killian. All of us."

Jonathan tapped an impatient foot. "Shall I tell him to expect you at the docks?"

"We'll be there, Jonathan, thank you," Emma said.

Jonathan bowed again, and in another swirl of grey smoke, he was gone.

…

The drive to the docks sent them all into a temper. Killian silently ground his back teeth across each other, willing himself to meet his father without turning murderous. Henry argued nonstop with Regina that he was going with Emma and Killian, no matter what she said. Regina argued just as hard in the other direction. Emma tried to back up Regina from her spot squashed between Killian and Henry in the back. Henry was leaning over the headrest in front of him to shout down his adoptive mother in the passenger seat. Killian desperately wanted out of the car; it took all his willpower to keep from slipping the driver a fat tip to open Regina's door boot her out.

Instead, he looked down at Emma, who gazed back up into his eyes with a look that begged him to fix this. Emma knew that if he calmly agreed with she and Regina, then Henry would back down. Sadly, she chose a difficult moment to ask Killian to intervene in parenting matters, given the enormity of what awaited him at the docks.

"I agree with Henry," he said, effectively silencing everyone in the car. Even the driver sucked in a breath, knowing that coming down against what sounded two him like two mothers was a poor, poor choice. "The only way to keep Henry safe is to… " Killian censored himself in front of the driver, " _confront_ Arthur. We can't do that from here. All we can do is wait for his next move. I think we'd all rather decide the next move ourselves than wait for him. Besides… Henry is practically a man," Regina actually growled at this, "and he should be able to decide his own fate."

Henry was beaming, absolutely beaming, across the backseat at Killian. Regina looked ready to murder him on the spot. The driver looked a bit afraid for him, as well. Emma turned to him, ready to gently remind him that Henry was her son and Regina's, and that he should respect their decision, but before she opened her mouth, she saw something in his face that stopped her. He was looking at Henry, and not with the conspiratorial grin she had expected, but with respect. Killian had appraised the situation and made a decision he felt best for Henry. He wasn't just playing at being a father; in a few short months, he would be a father. And along with Robin, Killian was a parent to Henry.

Good Lord, she had made Captain Hook her son's father.

"Perhaps Killian is right, Regina," Emma began, everyone in the car, including the driver, stopped breathing. Before Regina could start yelling, Emma continued calmly, "Henry is 13. In the Enchanted…" and here Emma had to censor herself in front of the driver… "in some places, he'd soon be old enough to go to war. I don't think he's making a snap decision, or an uninformed one. He wants to help us hunt down this threat. And so do you, Regina."

At some point in her little speech, Killian had slipped his hand into hers. He did not overtly smile at her, as baiting Regina with the fact that Emma had taken his side would not help Henry. But Emma felt powerfully that they presented a united front.

Regina seethed. "We will discuss this at the docks," she said through her teeth. She turned to stare out the windscreen at the street whizzing past.

When she turned to face front, Killian risked placing a kiss below Emma's ear. Henry had her other hand gripped in hers, and was giving it a squeeze while Regina wasn't looking. Emma suddenly understood the meaning of 'united front'.

…

They piled out of the car at the docks, Killian 'helping' Emma out in a way that involved running his hands quickly over her breasts. Emma gave him a hard look. "They are not bigger. Stop that," she hissed. Killian kept his thoughts to himself; they were bigger.

The car pulled away, and Jonathan appeared before them. Henry ran off down the quayside to investigate and to avoid Jonathan.

"Mr Jones, Ms Swan, Your Highness," he bowed slightly. "Follow me. Mr Jones, your father hopes you won't mind; he's brought something of yours…"

At that moment, Henry skilled to a halt at the corner of a warehouse that blocked the adults' view of the docks. Henry stopped dead for a moment, his jaw dropping open. Then he turned to the adults and yelled,

"Killian, come quick!"

Killian took off at a run, afraid that the final knight had found Henry. Regina and Emma ran after him. But when Killian arrived at the boy, ready to draw the sword he'd been keeping hidden under his winter coat, he saw why Henry had called to him. There, standing tall and proud against New York harbour was the Jolly Roger.

Killian momentarily felt his knees weaken. He put his hand on Henry's shoulder and gripped hard. Henry grinned at him. "Captain, she's back!" he said, his voice full of the same awe Killian was feeling.

Emma and Regina caught up to them. Emma immediately felt tears fill her eyes. The ship he had given up to find her; all that guilt she still carried for robbing him of his home, stood rocking on the waves and tied fast to the dock. Emma came up behind him and wrapped her arms around Killian's waist. She stood on her tiptoes, staring at the Roger with her chin rested on his shoulder.

"Oh, God, Killian, she is more beautiful than I remembered."

Killian advanced wordlessly towards his ship. When they were nearly upon it, he noticed the figure at the bow, loudly calling orders for minor repairs. Emma recognised him instantly. "Killian," she wound her arm around his, as much to hold him back as anything. "Killian, I told you, he has missed you. He loves you. Please listen…"

But Killian's hand was already gripping the sword at his hip and his face had tensed. She could feel the hatred coming off him in waves. Regina took a step forward for a better look.

"So that's Daddy. How fitting. An actual demon…" she raised an eyebrow at Killian. "Let's go get a few parenting tips, shall we?" Killian shot her a dark look. Regina stopped in front of Killian and turned to face him. "If you want him gone, tell me now. I'll go make it happen," she said softly.

Killian shook his head, shook free of Emma's grip and stepped around Regina. He stalked up to the gangplank of the Jolly Roger with his sword drawn and a murderous look on his face. Before his foot hit the gangplank, though, Snow rushed up to the side of the ship and shouted down: "Hook! David, David, it's Hook!" Her eyes swept down the docks. "Emmmmmma!" Snow launched herself down onto the docks, stumbling into a thoroughly surprised pirate. She hugged him close pressed a kiss into his cheek. "Thank you, Killian, thank you," Snow cried, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Thank you for bringing back my little girl." Killian temporarily forgot his rage, faced with Snow's love and gratitude. Emma reached them then, barrelling into her mother for a hug.

As Emma sobbed into Snow's arms, Killian made his way carefully up to the ship. He jumped down onto the deck, feeling the solid thump as he landed, reassuring him that she was really here and no mirage, no trick of his father's to win his favour. He ran his hand over the smooth railings, the riggings, the ropes… and then he noticed David. The prince had pulled him into a hug before Killian could speak.

"Hook… thank you," the prince said solemnly. David gripped his arm, smiled and then moved past him to welcome Emma aboard. Killian saw Belle and Will out of the corner of his eye; he nodded to them, overcome. His ship, his home, Emma's family, their friends… he was finding it hard to keep up the hatred. Until he turned to the bow and saw Davy Jones in front of him, tall and sure, looking as if he owned the place, and all the anger came rushing straight back into his veins. The man who had abandoned him, and Liam, and his mother.

Killian sauntered proudly around the mast, giving it an approving pat, and then moved towards the helm. He would not let that wanker see him so much as blink.

Davy Jones approached his son carefully. "Killian…" he said evenly, but Killian could he a waver in the voice. "Son, I know…"

"Noooo, really, I don't think you do," Killian clipped, no betrayal of emotion showing in his voice. "Is she ready to be underway?"

"Ready, son, anytime," Jones answered, a bit sadly.

"Then let's weigh anchor and be gone. We have a king to murder and no time to waste," Killian called sharply. "You have crew…?"

"Aye, a few men from Blackbeard's crew who I haven't sent to the locker. There's Jed, the first mate," Jones pointed him out.

Killian looked him over. "Jed, get the hell off my ship, and take the rest with you," Killian ordered. "I don't require a crew to sail the Jolly Roger, and I don't trust outsiders with my family at the moment." Killian tossed a bag of gold coins to the astonished first mate. "Enjoy New York."

The remaining pirates slunk off the ship and onto the docks like so many rats.

"David, Will, Henry," Killian called. "Haul up the anchor and let's set sail." Everyone set to work, including Emma, who had no time to tell her boyfriend to cut his father some slack. Her man was in a hurry to leave New York before any authorities intervened with the very visible Jolly Roger, and moving fast meant he didn't have to speak to his father.

Jones took the helm and steered them out of the harbour as Killian worked with her family and their friends to right the sails. As soon as the ship had cleared the harbour, Killian stood back, near Emma, and looked at the helm.

Emma sank back to the railings and watched the two men closely. She noticed that Davy Jones had taken an uncharacteristic step back. He had one hand on the helm, the other reaching… yes, indeed… could hardly believe it, but the man was reaching to scratch behind his ear. Something inside her melted. She moved gracefully past Killian and crossed the deck to Jones, greeting him with a kiss on his cheek that he accepted with more circumspection than she had anticipated. The devil was nervous, afraid his boy would, what, reject him? Hate him? She slid her eyes across to Killian, and saw a whole mountain of hate and rejection piling higher and higher by the moment. Walls were being erected around every corner of Killian's psyche. He and Liam were on one side, and Davy Jones was very firmly on the other.

"Son, please take the helm." Jones stepped away from wheel and from Emma and melted against the railing of the ship.

Killian made the wheel in three long strides. He ran his hands possessively over the wood.

"I suppose gratitude is in order for returning my ship to me." Killian levelled his gaze at his father. "As long as we're clear," Killian leaned forward and well-nigh hissed, " _she's mine_."

Emma rolled her eyes heavenwards, perfectly cognisant that Killian was referring to her in the same terms as his ship. She knew his father had thrown him out of sorts; she ignored the macho possessiveness and slid into Killian's arms. He held her against him with his left hand and gripped the helm with his right. She could let herself play sidekick for a moment while he adjusted his ego to his father's frankly overwhelming presence.

"Of course, my boy, you won her fair and square. I wouldn't dream of standing between a pirate and his prize." Jones grinned at his son.

"Oh, for God's sake," Regina scoffed, speaking the words on Emma's mind. "Are you two going to out-testosterone each other for the whole of the voyage?"

Emma stifled a laugh. She kissed Killian again, whispered to him, "Of course I'm yours. And you're mine. Now stop it." She spotted Henry on the far side of the ship and extricated herself from Killian's grip. "I'm going to talk to Henry, okay?"

Killian nodded. "Sorry, love. No offence meant." He buried his nose in her hair and murmured, so only she could hear him, "He's making me crazy."

Emma smiled and looked up into his eyes. "That's parents. And you're about to be one, so have a little sympathy for him." Emma stroked her hand through his hair with an enigmatic smile. Henry overheard her last comment and snorted in laughter all the way across the deck. "Sympathy for the Devil. Nice one, Mom." She giggled as she crossed the distance towards him.

…

Sir Kay kept himself hidden against the rigging of The Jolly Roger. Obscured by the darkness and the mast, no one else on board saw him. He had crept on the ship ahead of Killian and Emma. He waited. Emma had bested him in that park, but he would drag her away to Arthur, to the magical place where the others waited to end her. She wouldn't access to magic if he could slip the bracelet on her. He tensed his muscles.

The pirate had a tight grip on her, holding her next to the helm. He watched as she finally extricated herself. She stepped away from the pirate and from Jones. The two men were talking, arguing, not paying any attention to the shadow behind the mast. Emma wandered closer, heading for their son at the bow of the ship. Another step closer, and Kay pounced.

Kay grabbed Emma by the waist, pinning her arms with one hand and slipping the bracelet over her wrist with the other. She tried to scream, but Kay leaned back over the side of the ship, Emma gripped tight against his chest. He looked up at the pirate and the prince, already rushing for him. Kay smiled triumphantly straight into the pirate's eyes, and leaned right over the ship, pulling Emma with him into the dark waters below.

…

Killian didn't waste a moment. He reached the place where the knight had dragged Emma under, dropped his coat and shoes onto the deck and, without a second thought, he dove in. David reached the edge a moment later and searched the water for signs of any of the three.

Jones didn't move. He closed his eyes. Regina watched the demon. "He isn't trying to drown Emma, is he? He's taken her somewhere… magical."

Jones nodded slowly. "I need to go make this right. Get Emma out of the water. Her body will still be here, physically. Both parts of her need to survive." With a swirl of red smoke, Jones was gone.

Regina ran over to David. Will and Henry were tying a rope around his waist. David jumped in after Killian. Minutes ticked by before Henry shouted, "There's Killian! Grandpa, to your left!" Regina could just about make out Killian's dark shape, swimming on his back towards David, with Emma held tight against his chest. David made it there in a few strong strokes.

David took Emma from Killian, and Will, Henry, Belle and Snow pulled the rope slowly up the side of the ship. Killian turned over and swam hard for the ladder Henry had tossed over the side. He scrambled up so fast that he was waiting at the top by the time David passed Emma over the railings to Snow.

Killian, Regina and Snow collapsed onto the deck, Emma cradled in Killian's lap and Snow stroking her hair.

"Killian, your father has gone to retrieve Emma," Regina began.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about? We've just retrieved her."

Regina shook her head and held his gaze steadily. "No, we retrieved her body. Jones went after her spirit. The knight wasn't here to drown her, he was taking her someplace else, somewhere magical."

"Can they hurt her there? Kill her?" Snow asked. "Her pulse is so weak."

"I don't know," Regina answered. "I do know that Jones will shift hell itself to bring her back."

…

As soon as she felt herself falling, Emma braced herself not to pass out with the force of hitting the water. Hitting water from that height was like falling onto cement, but Emma managed to angle them so that Kay took the worst of it. He let go as the sunk beneath the surface. She kicked him hard and felt one of his ribs crack under her foot. Free from his grasp, she start for the surface, kicking hard for the moonlight and the vague outline of the ship's hull.

Just as she was about to break the surface, she felt herself gasping down air. She wasn't in the water anymore. She looked around her, dripping on the floor of what seemed a stereotypical dungeon. Locked away behind bars but surrounded by knights, she recognised that she was deep in the depths of a castle; she felt the oppressive top-heaviness of stone towering above her. No magic. She tried to rip off the pretty bangle on her wrist, but it held tight.

The knights cheered Kay. He was cradling his side where she'd kicked him and looking winded from the fall off the Jolly Roger. But he was still walking, and a knight handed him a blade. Two men grabbed her and secured her against a cold, dank wall.

"At long last, princess, we have you here with us in the Enchanted Forest. Arthur is coming, of course. But first, we have a little business to finish."

Sir Kay pressed the tip of the blade into Emma's belly. He made a shallow cut, but it hurt. She tensed and it seemed to press into the muscle. She was powerless to stop him, and he was going to kill her and the baby. She felt tears starting to form.

"Your boyfriend should arrive just in time to rescue your body," he leered.

He pressed the blade a bit deeper, nearer her navel.

"The boys and I don't want to kill you straight away. After all this chase you've led us, we want to take our time and enjoy your death."

He moved the knife along and made a third cut, this one bleeding more profusely.

He moved the knife again. She felt it start to bite into her flesh, when suddenly he was flung against a tree that had not been there a moment before. Emma looked around her. She knew this landscape. The dungeon had vanished. The amazing yellow-leaved tree, the wildflowers, the softest grass, the poisonous, stunning river: this was the riverbank across from the Underworld.

All of the knights, including Kay, had frozen. Davy Jones appeared before them, far from her, separated from her by the cluster of knights. He walked amongst the frozen knights, touching each one as he passed. They fell down dead, their bodies crumbling to dust. When he reached Emma, he held out his hand, "My dear lass, we keep meeting in the most difficult circumstances. I did hope I wouldn't see you here again so soon." Sir Kay and another knight were still left alive, and they watched as Emma took Jones' hand. He swept her up into a hug and kissed her cheek. "Have they hurt you?" He stepped over to the nameless knight, and touched him. He fell dead.

Emma nodded. "Yes, Captain Jones…" She leaned against him, still a bit unsteady. She felt his arm around her back, and if she closed her eyes the image she had was not of Killian holding her, but David. She suddenly missed her own father.

"Oh, Emma, my love, please call me Davy, or even Papa if you don't mind. I know you and my boy aren't married… yet… but surely I can consider you my daughter? Now, tell me, daughter, how has this man hurt you?" He indicated Kay. His tone was so soothing, so soft, like Killian when he was talking her down from a temper. He stroked his hand over her temple. "You can't possibly protect him. Please, love, tell me."

Emma had never seen terror like she saw on the face of Sir Kay. But Emma tried to imagine David asking her. She showed Jones the knife wounds on her belly, beneath her shirt, where Kay had tried to torture her and threaten the baby. She didn't need to say more. She suspected that Jones knew without her showing him the wounds in the first place. This was a show, all to increase Kay's terror.

Jones held his hand over the wound and it healed instantly. He held his hand there for another moment.

"My little grandbaby is still fine, just so you know," he smiled at her. "Healthy as can be, so no worrying, okay?"

Emma bit her lip and nodded.

"Now, Emma, I can't have you watch this next bit. It might keep you up nights, and you and this precious babe need your sleep. So I'm just going to..." He passed his hand again across Emma's temple, and she fell instantly asleep. Jones caught her in his arms. He laid her down in the soft grass beneath the tree. That's where she awoke – she didn't know how much time had passed. Kay was gone. The front of Jones' pure white shirt was soaked through with blood. She could smell burning flesh in the air. When he saw her open eyes, he rolled his hand in the air and his shirt was restored, pure white once more. The air smelled of grass and lavender.

"Did you sleep well, lass? Come," he held his hand out to her and pulled her to her feet. Jones rubbed his hand over her wrist and the bracelet fell away. "Killian will be getting anxious. And Henry. That lad is as brave as his mother." Jones looked her over. "You just need a few more minutes before you surface. I have to bring you up slowly."

Emma smiled knowingly. "You are the king of flattery, aren't you, _Papa_?" She brushed off her top and leggings. She felt well, light and free, untethered. "God, I'm still dressed for a half marathon." Emma felt the magic in the air. She pulled it from the molecules around her, rearranged it and ran her hands over her clothing from shoulders to hips. She was instantly wearing a red gown that fell to the floor, complete with corset and a plunging neckline. "Do you think Killian will like this?" she asked, turning this way and that.

"There's not a bad angle to that dress," he nodded approvingly.

Emma looked down at her bare feet. She clicked her fingers for a pair of stilettos.

"And I think he'll love those, too," Jones added, raising an eyebrow at her. "Not the usual footwear on board a pirate ship, but I suspect he'll accustom himself to it."

"You see, Papa, you aren't the only one who can play these games. I thank you for your protection and your kindness. I am feeling myself again, now. You understand, right? No more knocking me out so that you can indulge in a bit of torture?"

Jones looked suitably called out. He offered Emma his arm. She hooked her hand over the crook of his elbow, and walked down a smooth path towards the water with him. "You cannot deny me torture, daughter. I am a demon, after all. You cannot expect me to watch my son's beautiful lass being hurt and not _intervene_. I had your best interests at heart."

"I know, Papa, I do. You have done nothing but protect me since we met," she leaned over and placed a familial kiss on his cheek. "But you must let me have my own best interests at heart. I am not a pawn. I'm growing tired of being knocked unconscious."

"Very well, lass," he waved his hand and the flowers and trees all disappeared, replaced by the stony landscape and the solitary, silver river of mercury.

"Oh, Papa," Emma pouted dramatically. "Don't be like that. You know I loved the flowers."

Jones smiled indulgently. He waved his arm and the flowers, the meadow, the birdsong reappeared, brighter than before. "My princess, I cannot deny you anything you ask."

He waved his hand for bench and it appeared – "Can't have you sitting on the ground in that gown" – and bade her sit next to him. They sat for a moment before the stream, watching it undulate slowly along the grassy bank. Emma leaned her head on his shoulder; she knew he liked taking care of her. Like David, he had missed out on fatherhood, and all the urges to protect and defend had nowhere to go now. Except straight at her. She found it much easier to let Jones take this role; he had never been her friend or equal, as David had. Whatever else Davy Jones was now, he was still Killian's father, and Emma knew in her bones that Killian would struggle to accept him as such, even less than she had managed with David. Davy needed to parent someone, and it so happened Emma rather needed a parent at the moment.

"This struggle feels never-ending. It's like lifetimes since I was walking down mainstreet with Killian, no swords and no guns and no problems. No villains." Emma sighed. "How does this end, Papa?"

"It ends well for you and my son, princess, I promise you that. I will make sure of it," Jones said calmly, hugging her close to his side.

Emma sensed, not for the first time with Killian's family, that she was reverting to a teenage version of herself that had never existed. "Arthur fights like a coward. Never in front, never in danger. He hides away in the shadows and behind battle lines of knights."

"Fear not, my dear, killing people happens to be a speciality of mine. And of Killian's." His eyes sparkled at her. "It's the battle beyond Arthur where you'll come into your own."

" _Beyond_ Arthur?" Emma looked up in surprise.

"One thing at a time, princess." Jones looked across the river. "It's time to get back. Killian and Henry and your parents are waiting. You're ready now. I'm sorry, but it's one more bout of unconsciousness."

"Are you coming with me, Papa?" Emma felt her eyes closing, her head sinking into his lap, his hand patting her shoulder.

"Not right yet, princess. A ship only needs one captain…" and that was the last Emma heard.

…

Killian breathed hard, slumped against the side of The Jolly Roger, soaked to the skin in cold salt water and an equally soaking Emma collapsed in his lap. Regina was leaning over Emma, trying to determine if the problem was physical or magical. Then Emma's clothing shimmered and changed. Her wet running things disappeared and a fitted red gown appeared in their place. Her hair was dry and perfectly brushed out, falling over his wet trousers in blond waves. Her breath came back, even and strong, her breasts rising and falling gently in clear view, given the neckline of the dress. _Definitely bigger_ , he couldn't help thinking to himself.

Killian growled in annoyance, "Looks like dear old Dad is having another one of his chats with my woman."

Regina let out a sigh of relief. "At least she's okay, captain. Looks like dear old Dad adores your girlfriend and has sent her back to you once again."

Emma's eyes began to open. She saw the sails of the Jolly Roger snapping in the breeze against a clear, starry sky. She turned her head and saw Killian above her, his eyes seeming a bit guarded, hair dripping onto her gown as reached up and brought his face close to hers.

"Killian," she breathed, and kissed him. He kissed her back, passionately. She could feel his cold hands inching their way towards her chest, and for a moment all she could focus on was how devastatingly good he looked, all wet and ruffled. She could hear David coughing loudly somewhere in the background and a mumbled, "Gross." She pulled back slightly and shot a disapproving look in the direction of his wandering hands.

"I nearly died, and your mind is still on one thing," she laughed.

"Two things, in fairness." His gaze lingered on her neckline. "And you seem perfectly well. I'm sat here freezing to death and aging badly as I imagine you and my child dead. Meanwhile, what, you're at a ball with my father?"

"No ball, sadly. Attempted torture, Sir Kay threatening to cut our child from my belly while I watched," Killian sucked in a breath, "and then … poof. Back to the Underworld with Papa."

"Papa?" both David and Killian exploded.

"He's looking for someone to parent, Killian, and you're being resistant."

"Send me down there. I wouldn't be resistant," Belle put in.

Snow and Regina nodded furiously. "Oi, I'm stood right here," Will protested.

Killian shot the queen a venomous look. "Et tu, Regina?"

"Killian, your father is the walking embodiment of sex and death," she explained. "There is no ignoring it."

"If we speak of the devil, do you think he'll appear?" Snow mused hungrily.

Emma laughed. "No, he said he wasn't coming straight back." Emma sat up next to Killian. "He's worried that his son doesn't want him around."

Killian stood up. "He's not wrong." He ran his hand through his wet hair. Both he and David were turning blue with the cold. "Let's find some dry clothes, Dave, and get underway. Again."


	19. Chapter 19

Killian and David changed their clothes while Henry and Will took the wheel. As they were about to re-emerge on deck a few minutes later – David in fresh jeans and a sweater, Killian in leathers that his father seemed to have packed away in his wardrobe - they heard the women talking and laughing and arguing. They stopped dead on hearing their names, both of them listening in on the women's conversation.

"I guess it makes sense that the demon of the Underworld is tempting, though," Snow was laughing. David stilled his breathing and listened in. "It's incredible how much he looks like Hook."

"And you had your head in his lap, Emma?" Belle gasped. In the corridor below deck, Killian's whole body went rigid.

"You are deliberately misinterpreting my story!" Emma protested. "He put me under and laid me out under a tree," Killian clenched his fists and stared straight ahead. "My point is that he desperately wanted me to see him as a father, I think probably as a means of getting Killian to do the same."

"So he's manipulating you." Regina concluded.

"No, I think he's just anxious for Killian to forgive him, and he wants a family. He wants me and the baby to be his daughter and his grandchild, and I think he feels more certain he'll get that than that he'll get his son's love or respect."

David could hear Snow patting his daughter. "You're placing a lot of faith in a devil," she counselled softly.

"I placed a lot of faith in a bloodthirsty pirate, and that's worked out pretty well so far," Emma shrugged.

David looked over at Killian, and he could see the anger over Davy Jones still bubbling away.

"Do not dare go near my daughter until you calm down," he told the pirate harshly.

Killian glared at him. "It's not Emma I'm angry with." He forced his anger down and fixed his eyes on David. "No, I have other plans for Emma…"

"Tell me you are not directing any of that anger Emma's way." David had his hand on Killian's shoulder, pushing it into the wall and waiting for a clear answer.

Killian's eyes cleared and he looked at David's eyes with total honesty. "I would never hurt Emma. Never. I would never touch her in anger."

"That's the sort of thing that's easy to say, and harder to live, especially when you're burning up with rage," David kept at it, considering Killian's reactions. "And you look ready to boil over."

"David…" Killian tried to shake off the prince's hand without success. "Emma nearly died just now. I admit I still have that adrenaline running through my system. It does make me want to take her to the mast and…"

David voluntarily let go of Killian. He threw up his arm defensively. "Whatever you're planning to do to my daughter, I don't want details and I don't want any of it happening on deck. Please, I'm asking nicely, take her to your quarters. Do not scar Henry. Or me." He looked Hook over one last time, and he could see why Emma trusted him. Even now, he knew Captain Hook posed no threat to his little girl.

Killian followed David up to the deck. He didn't want to hear more of the conversation. He walked up to where Emma, Regina, Snow and Belle were relaxing on the deck, catching each other up on all that had happened. He silently held out his hand to Emma and pulled her up to him. She tottered slightly in her inappropriate footwear and dress.

"You should probably get changed, love," he said carefully. Regina watched him, looking for signs that she should stop him walking off with her friend. Emma caught it too. Killian was brooding and angry under the calm exterior.

"All right," Emma gave him a small smile, trying to relax him.

"I have some clothes in my – our - quarters," he gave her hand an almost imperceptible tug. "Let's go find you something to wear." Emma followed him back below deck and to his – _okay, their_ \- quarters.

Her back hit door hard as soon it was shut, Killian pinning her against it with his body, her feet suspended a couple of inches off the floor as he kissed her breathless. When he broke the kiss, he eased back and she dropped the rest of the way to the floorboards, her spike heels landing with a dull thump near his boots. His fingers ran along the neckline of her dress, thumbing the material and dipping down between her breasts.

"Did my father give you this gown?"

Emma shook her head. "I conjured it… for you," she whispered, a tiny bit concerned at where his mood might be heading. "Of course, I didn't tell him about the lingerie I created… that's just for your eyes." She looked him through her lashes, hoping a bit of sub/dom roleplay would set him right. After all, he's spent a few weeks at the mercy of her mood swings over far less cause; she owed him one.

"He's seen you in the dress, so get rid of it," Killian growled. Emma stepped forward a half pace, pressing her breasts against his chest, and murmured, "It laces up the back. You'll have to help me untie it."

Killian gathered her long hair and wrapped it loosely around his fist. The he pulled the ribbon at the top of the dress and slowly unpicked the lacing, until it hung open enough to drop to the floor. She was left in a red strapless bra and tiny lace knickers. Normally he would have whistled at her, or grinned, or made some appreciative comment, but now he just ran his eyes over her critically. The only evidence she had of his approval was a noticeable and growing bulge in his leather trousers.

He turned his back on her and made his way slowly to the solid chair behind his desk. She followed. He flipped back around, facing her, and pressed his thumb against lips, forcing them open. He kissed her again, long and deep, leaving his hand on her jaw and his thumb between her molars, restricting her movement as he took what he wanted from that kiss.

Killian then pushed her roughly to her knees in front of the desk chair. He settled himself onto the edge, leaning forward slightly, legs spread, and threaded one hand carelessly into her hair. His fingertips pressed into the back of her head, forcing her to shuffle forward on her knees, her nose level with the laces of his trousers.

"Something you're after, Captain?" Emma licked her lips, still enjoying their roleplay.

Without saying a word, Killian began to untie his trousers. He slid them lower on his hips. Then he just raised an eyebrow at her. "Do I even need to give the order, lass? You know what's expected."

Emma scrambled to obey; his words had her dripping beneath her gown. She buried her face in his trousers, using her tongue and lips to lick and suck him out of the leather. She used her hands to pull the material slightly lower. The she licked him in short, needy pants from root to tip, covering every inch of skin along his cock and stopping at last to suck shallowly on the tip, her tongue pressed into the sensitive spot near the head.

Killian then brought both his hands to the side of her head and interlocked his fingers in her hair. He held her steady. "Open wide, love," he warned her, then began to shift his hips up, fucking her mouth and throat. He didn't fuck her too far or too hard, but Emma suddenly twigged that this wasn't exactly a roleplay. He wasn't playing at being Captain Hook; he was Captain Hook, and she really was on her knees in front of him, on his ship. His father really was the keeper of the Underworld, and Killian really thought she was playing some sort of flirtatious Daddy game with Jones. She could interpret it as good-natured sexual experimentation if she liked, but something a bit more serious was in play here.

Usually Emma felt firmly in control when she gave a blow job, and this was not that. Killian had, as usual, arranged them so that he was looking straight into her eyes, but she couldn't read his expression. This time he was watching with undisguised lust as she took it, so he could watch her gag as his cock hit the back of her throat over and over.

Emma knew – _okay, hoped_ \- that Captain Hook or no, he would stop if she wanted to. So she tested the theory. She put one hand on his knee and pushed back. He released her head immediately, pulled out of her mouth and let her gasp for air. He gave her a look of pure concern, "Emma, are you all right? Am I hurting you, love?"

She grinned at him; she loved him. "Just fine, Captain," she carried on, "just needed to see you better." She rocked forward and licked his cock from base to tip. "Shall we continue?"

Killian's head slumped back for a moment as she took him back in her mouth. She brought her hands up to cup his balls, gently teasing and stroking. He began to move a bit faster, chasing his own satisfaction, and he went back to holding her head steady where he wanted it. Finally she felt him start to tremble and pulse, and he came in hard bursts down her throat, his hands gripping fistfuls of her hair as she swallowed him down.

He released her hair and eased himself out of her mouth. He sat for moment watching her face, his thumb rubbing circles into her jaw. Then he lowered himself onto the floor next to her, leaning back against the desk, and he gathered her into his arms. "Emma, I love you," he said, balancing his forehead against hers. "You are so beautiful. And incredibly understanding." He kissed her gently. "Thank you for indulging me."

Emma looked into his eyes. "You need to understand that your father is not a threat to you where I am concerned. Far beyond me not wanting that, he doesn't either," she said, holding his gaze levelly. "Get over that, okay? I am yours, the Jolly Roger is yours. Whatever he did to you, and to Liam, he is only trying to protect you, and me, and Henry, and our baby. Okay?"

Killian breathed out. "Am I allowed to kiss you?" he asked, without answering her question, "Am I forgiven?" Emma nodded. He kissed her very gently, with all the love she knew he felt for her. Admitting to himself that his father was not the villain he had always imagined would take time.

Emma smiled back. "I am still sitting here in this incredible outfit," she glanced down at her bra and knickers. "Are you not going to take advantage of it, Captain?"

Killian picked her up, carried her over to the bed, and took full advantage of it.

…

David watched as a smiling, relaxed Captain Hook, _sans_ hook, returned to the helm a couple of hours later. Henry and Will had done a good job of taking them out to sea, north-east as Killian had ordered. David knew he needed to get over it, but he couldn't help feeling strange about the fact that the raging pirate was now all good humour because… well, he didn't want to think about the reason. He tried to ignore Emma as she emerged on deck, still in that red dress that Killian had now decided he rather liked, and made her way over to Snow with a blissful smile on her lips.

"So, Dave…" Killian clapped him on the back. "Did my father leave us with a set of instructions, or are we to sprinkle fairy dust over the mainsail and think happy thoughts?" Killian grinned at David. "Because I am certainly thinking happy thoughts right now."

David shuddered. He retrieved a scroll from his coat pocket and handed it to Killian. "The location requires a better knowledge of the stars than I have…"

Killian studied the star chart in his hands. It was written in proper ink, from a quill, in a looping, elegant script. Killian had seen that writing before in a book in Liam's extensive collection – his father's writing.

"Aye, we will be here, beneath the constellation Pegasus, within an hour. What then?"

"Well, then we pour Regina's fairy dust across the deck from the crow's nest. And then... you pick our destination, visualise it, and…"

"Emma kisses me and takes us there," Killian completed the thought. David nodded. "We've done this before," he explained.

David headed across the deck to inform the others, and Emma came to stand beside Killian. He shifted her so that she stood between him and the ship's wheel, and then got one arm around her to nestle her back into his chest. He had dreamed of this, Emma snuggled against him while he steered the Jolly off to her next adventure. His hand slid down to stroke her lower abdomen, appreciating for the moment that he had everything he wanted – Emma, his baby, his ship – in his arms, before whatever came next tried to take one or all away from him.

Emma tilted her head up to kiss his neck, where she could feel his pulse beating under her lips. "Are we almost there?"

"Aye, a few minutes more. Are you ready to say good-bye to The Land Without Magic again, at least for a while? I know this place is your home…"

"It was," Emma nodded. "I admit I enjoyed New York. Well, until the other realms started to intrude and try to kill us all." She shrugged. "Anyway, I never really had a home. Not like you have here." She ran her hand over the polished wood of the wheel. "My home is wherever you and Henry are."

Killian pressed a kiss into her hair. "I promise that once this is over, you and Henry and the baby and I will have a home, a physical address, wherever you like."

Emma laughed, "Yeah, we all know you can afford it." He grinned at her.

"We're here!" he called across the deck suddenly. "Snow, David, Henry… tie up the sails. Belle and Regina, drop the anchor." He leapt down to help with the sails, and Emma did the same. "Will," he called, and handed him the vial of fairy dust that Regina had brought from Blue, "can you climb up to the crow's nest? At my signal, you'll need to release this across the whole of the ship." Will grabbed the vial and began the long climb to the top of the mast.

With the sails stowed and the anchor in place, Killian grabbed Emma's hand and positioned her against the mast. "Everyone hold fast to the ship," he called. Belle, Regina, Snow, David and Henry all secured themselves to ropes and riggings. The morning light was just starting to colour the horizon, turning it a deep blue with flecks of gold at the edges. Killian closed his eyes and pictured their destination in his mind, his emotional connection to the place. He wrapped his hands around a rope secured to the mast, and Emma wrapped her arms around his waist. He pressed her body against the wood. "Can you see it, love?"

"Yes," she gasped. "Are you sure?"

"Aye." He looked straight up the mast to where Will was perched against the early dawn sky. "Do it, Will!"

Will unstoppered the vial and carefully emptied the contents in a 360 degree arc over the Jolly Roger. It rained down onto the deck like starshine, catching in Emma and Killian's hair and settling on their clothes. The whole ship took on a milky glow against the ocean.

"Well, love, are you going to kiss me?"

Emma held tight to him and looked into his eyes. "Anytime you like, Captain." She brushed her lips against his, opening her mouth as he pressed her head back against the mast and held on tight. As Killian tilted his head to reach deeper into her mouth, the Jolly Roger shimmered, then disappeared. The only sign it had ever been there was a bit of fairy dust, sinking like gemstones into the ocean.


	20. Chapter 20

Curled up tight in his spot in the crow's nest, Will awakened before anyone else on the Jolly Roger. His neck ached from the strange position he had landed in when the fairy dust knocked them all out. He stood and gingerly stretched his shoulder and neck this way and that to work out the kinks. He had taken a lesser hit of the stuff than anyone else, so after crawling back down to the deck, he wandered around to look for injuries.

He found Killian at the base of the mast, one arm still tangled in the rope he had used to secure himself, the other wrapped around Emma. She had collapsed on top of him with her head on his chest, her body rising and falling with every breath Killian took.

Regina lay sprawled near the helm with Belle and Henry each clutched in one hand. Will disentangled Belle from the queen, picked her up and moved her to a bed in the crew's quarters. Will sat on the bed next to her, running his fingers through her long hair and wondering if he should try to wake her or simply wait for the effects of the dust to wear off. He grabbed a blanket from another bunk, ran back up the ladder to the deck and draped it over Henry. The morning stretched overcast and grey across the sky and the air carried a chill. Will quickly checked over David and Snow, made sure they were all right.

Will knew without looking where they had landed, but still he made his way over to Killian's unconscious form and liberated the spyglass from a loop on his belt. The light refracted differently in every realm he'd ever been in, and this one glowed with a vague but unforgettable hint of indigo, even through the cloud. Camelot. He trained the spyglass towards the shore. Sure enough, far in the distance were the familiar, candy-coloured turrets of Arthur's caste. He snorted in disgust. They had commandeered a pirate ship and crossed realms, only to end up back at the scene of the crime. Will knew that he would have made the same decision, though, if he were Killian. Take the fight to Arthur, take his castle, take his kingdom, then lure the king back and take the land.

Will's mind started ticking through the possibilities; they needed to find allies, the people loyal to Killian, or the idea of him as Arthur's son, or simply to Arthur's overthrow. Will had met a number of sympathisers, and he knew where to begin. They needed an army, however ill-equipped and small. And they needed a thief. Because Will knew that they only had to steal one thing to make the plan work, to force Arthur back to Camelot to face Killian: they just had to steal the queen.

…

Will waited an hour, but impatience got the better of him. The pirate looked entirely too happy there, prone beneath the mast with Emma passed out on him, both dopey with smiles in their fairy-induced sleep. Will lifted Emma carefully away, settled her on the bunk across from Belle and then fetched a bucket of cold seawater. He tipped it over Killian's head. To his credit, the pirate was on his feet, sword drawn and Will pinned to the deck, before the last drops had left the bucket. He shook off the seawater and the fairy dust and took stock of his surroundings.

"Bloody hell, Will. You could have just told me to wake up," Killian groused.

"Could have. Didn't want to. More effective and more fun," Will grinned.

Killian sat down on the deck and wiped the water backwards through his hair. "Where's Emma?" he asked in a sudden panic.

"Safe below deck with Belle. Pregnant ladies need their sleep, and I didn't want to get her wet. Everyone else is still out."

Killian took in the situation on deck. He reached down for his spyglass, only to find it missing. Will handed it over.

"We made it," Will said. "The castle's there," he pointed and Killian followed his outstretched hand to the turrets.

"Aye, we did," Killian smiled. He was always slightly amazed when magic worked out just as planned, particularly when he had been controlling it. He hopped up and strode over to the helm. "Wake David, Snow and Regina. We can carry on down the coast a pace to dock the Jolly Roger safely. Regina can cloak it."

Half a day later, they had the Jolly Roger anchored in a hidden bay down the coast. Everyone had woken except Emma. Killian suggested that Regina extend Emma's sleep for a bit. She had been through so much in the last 24 hours – the killings in their living room, the threat to Henry, the attack in the park, the attack by Sir Kay – that Killian wanted her to sleep until she truly needed to wake. Regina cast a gentle spell to keep Emma in her fairy dust-inspired dreams for another few hours. Killian carried her into the rowboat that took them to shore, and then waded the last few metres from the rowboat to the beach with Emma in his arms. They made camp in the woods at the edge of the beach so that Snow, David, Will and Belle could tell the others what they knew of Camelot and the resistance to Arthur.

They agreed that Will, Belle, Henry and David would start rounding up anyone who had loyalty to Killian. Meanwhile, Emma, Snow, Regina and Killian would walk into the castle as if they owned the place, tell the kingdom that Arthur was dead and use the confusion to find Mairead and Guinevere.

As David and Will put some food together over a campfire, Killian crawled into a makeshift canvas tent and the equally makeshift bed that contained a sleeping, smiling Emma. He placed a gentle kiss on her head and brushed the last of the fairy dust from her eyes. "Wake up, love," he said softly, watching for her response. Emma woke slowly, taking in her new surroundings.

"Killian," she asked anxiously, "did we make it to Camelot?"

"Aye, we did it," he smiled down at her, "We've all made camp on a bay not far from the castle and rendered the ship invisible. I just asked Regina extend your sleep for bit…"

"You did what?" Emma sat up quickly. "I've been unconscious again?" Emma seethed. "I am not a child that you can just keep sending off for naps while the adults make plans!"

"Emma, no one is doing that…"

"Yes, you are. This needs to stop, Killian. I can make decisions about my own well-being."

"It's not just your well-being, is it? The baby needs for you to take it a bit easier and get some sleep…"

"Don't you dare!" Emma was on her feet. "Don't for one second think that this baby gives you any measure of control over me."

Killian fought back the urge to argue with her. He kept his voice calm and his face neutral. "I am not trying to control you. You had simply had a very rough 24 hours and we all agreed that you needed a bit more sleep. Even Regina." Killian held out his hand to her. "Please sit down. Please, Emma. I will listen to you. I promise."

She glared at him, but she could feel her anger ebbing slightly. Ignoring his outstretched hand, Emma sat down herself down, across from him. "Listen to what, Captain? You've made a plan and I'm just here to carry it out."

"That's not how any of this has worked, Emma. You and I have done everything together. You already knew my plan; you saw my thoughts before we left the Land Without Magic. There's no power struggle here – whatever stupidity I displayed on my ship, I have apologised and I meant it - and I'd gladly give in to whatever demands you have to make you both happy and keep you both safe." Killian brought his hands to rest against her belly. "You hold all the cards, Emma," he explained quietly.

He was making her melt, again. She had no defence against his honest contrition and desire to keep her safe. "I'm getting a bit touchy about being knocked out, even when it's done for the best reasons," she admitted. "I understand why you did it, and you're right, I was exhausted."

Killian grinned in relief and gathered her up in his arms. "I love you," he murmured against her neck. "It's hard to know how best to protect you and the baby. I'm still learning, Emma. Please give me time."

Just then they heard Henry's voice at the opening of their tent. "Grandpa says to get off each other and come out for some food," he announced.

Emma and Killian laughed, breaking all the tension, and they gathered around the fire with their friends and family, ready to take on Arthur with their best and closest allies.

…

Gaining entry to Arthur's castle proved as simple as Snow had explained. They made their way as far as Mairead's quarters almost without hindrance. The two lone guards they encountered were quietly dispatched by Regina transporting them, unconscious, to a distance wood. The heavily guarded section of the castle began some way beyond, at the entrance to the tallest tower.

Snow knocked lightly at the door to Mairead's room. When the older woman opened the door and recognised Snow, she pulled her in quickly and made to shut the door again, but Snow stopped her. Snow took Mairead's hand and said in a hushed tone, "No, wait, there's someone I want you to meet." Snow pulled Killian into the room.

Mairead stilled. She put a hand over her mouth and stumbled onto the sofa. "It's like Davy himself come back to life. Oh, Lord, you must be little Killian," Mairead gasped. She launched herself off the sofa and straight at the pirate. She hugged him like he was a boy. Killian blinked. He'd known who Mairead was, of course, but even after meeting Mac and Oona and all the clann, he had somehow not expected the shock of meeting a woman so close to his mother. His father seemed like his mother's tormenter, betrayer and enemy. This woman had been his mother's closest friend. Killian had buried all of that pain so far down that he wasn't aware it could even be accessed anymore.

Killian took a step back and carefully disentangled himself from Mairead. He reached behind him for Emma and positioned her just in front of him, like a shield.

"This-is-Emma-my…" Killian stumbled on the word appropriate to describe Emma in this realm, "love," his head supplied quickly and he rattled quickly on, "and-she's-pregnant."

Emma rolled her eyes. So much for protecting her and the baby, she thought with a wry smile. She'd very clearly been thrown into Mairead's path as an emotional grenade.

"Oh, my," Mairead took a shuddering breath, "Orla's grandchild." Killian's strategy backfired as the woman stepped around Emma and gripped him in an even fiercer hug. "She would be so proud of you! I… I thought you dead all these years. I searched for you, Killian, I promise you that I did, searched for you and little Liam." Mairead looked deep into his eyes. "You Ma loved you so."

Killian stiffened and took another step back.

Regina put herself in front of him this time, and beamed down at the woman with her best regal smile. "How touching. We're all finding it a bit difficult to accept that Killian ever had an actual mother. Something one rarely considers in a 200-year-old pirate. But we need to find Guinevere, and quickly. Do you know where she is?"

Killian, still staring in emotional shock at Mairead, was clearly out for the count, so Snow jumped in instead. "Mairead, we need to find Guinevere. We need to secure the castle and force Arthur to return. How do we get to Guinevere?"

Mairead returned to herself. "You can't get into the tower without a bloodbath. But I can call her here. I am one of the few people she is allowed to visit."

"Allowed? Allowed by whom?"

"By Arthur. Even when he isn't here, she cannot leave the tower without a full guard leading her around. He loves her so, he protects her every move," Mairead explained. "But she can come this far with very little supervision."

"Protection… is that what they call it here? Sounds like imprisonment," Emma commented.

Mairead ushered the four visitors into the shadows of her room and called for a guard. As she passed Killian on the way to the door, she stopped to pinch his cheek. His eyes widened in horror and his hand clutched tight to the handle of his sword. Emma dropped a hand on top of his, prying his fingers off the metal. She smiled at Mairead.

"Your nephew is just feeling a bit out of sorts," Emma shrugged, leading him past his aunt.

"Nice one, Captain. Planning to run through your own auntie if she gives you a kiss?" Regina taunted.

"Don't, Regina, poor Killian is feeling overwhelmed," Snow intervened.

Killian shook himself out of his daze and glared at Regina. "Don't push it, Your Majesty. We all know what you've done to your own..."

Emma threw herself at Killian, kissing him fiercely and effectively stopping the next words from coming out of his mouth. Any mention of Regina killing her own father would be impossible to smooth over. When she pulled back from the kiss, she gazed up at him with a plea in her eyes, but just said, "Regina is trying to help, Killian. Please."

He calmed himself and bit back his retort to the queen, once again, for Emma. He could see Regina steaming in the darkened corner of the room, but she too said nothing.

Mairead told the guard that she desired a visit from the Queen Guinevere. Could her take the message to her? The guard bowed and disappeared down the endless corridors.

They waited in silence with Mairead seated at the window. More than an hour passed before Killian heard almost imperceptible footsteps in the hall outside Mairead's door. The lock clicked open and the door creaked on its hinges. The woman who entered was tiny, far smaller than Emma, and weighed down with a heavy gold necklace and bracelets, with a deep golden tiara woven into her dark hair. The satin train behind her blue dress stretched for metres down the corridor. It was an outfit designed to restrict and constrain. She moved slowly and deliberately into Mairead's room, scooping up the dress and closing the door behind her.

Mairead stood up from her spot at the window. "Guinevere, love, I'm so glad you could come to see me. I wanted you to meet someone."

Guinevere's eyes went wide as she watched Killian emerge from the shadows of the room. "Guinevere, let me introduce my nephew, and your husband's son, Killian Jones."


	21. Chapter 21

Before Guinevere could scream, Regina appeared at her side, passed her hand in front of the queen's throat, and took her voice. The queen darted her eyes to the door, then back to Killian, seemingly weighing the odds of escape.

"I think it's best if you listen for a moment," Regina whispered soothingly. "I will give you a chance to speak soon enough."

Mairead threw a soothing arm over Guinevere's shoulders, and pressed her lovingly down into a chair.

"No need to fret, dear," Mairead spoke calmly. "Killian's not here to harm you. But we do need your cooperation, willing or unwilling." Mairead flicked her eyes to Regina and Emma. "They can force cooperation if necessary."

Emma pulled a chair in front of Guinevere and sat down. She was instantly Sheriff Swan again, about to interrogate a hostile witness. "I don't want to harm you," Emma explained, coolly and confidently, in a tone that suggested she might harm Guinevere even so. "Your husband has been chasing Killian and I through two realms, trying to murder us. We have no quarrel with him. We had no knowledge of him until he came to our home and ripped us away from it."

Guinevere's eyes narrowed as Emma continued her story, telling her about all of Arthur's attacks, the attempted rape, the vigilantes, the blood in the apartment, the rush to save Henry and the murder of Jonathan. The queen's face was unreadable as she listened to the accusations. When Emma had finished, Regina stepped forward: "I'm going to restore your voice. If you scream or draw attention to yourself, I will take it again, and keep it."

Guinevere touched her throat as Regina reversed her spell. She glared at Emma. "Liar," she hissed, her voice gravelly and low as a side effect of the spell. "This pirate, this bastard son, he kills and steals and he wants Arthur dead. My husband is protecting his kingdom from his _mistake_."

Regina just raised an eyebrow. "Your husband had his knights kidnap Emma and try to cut the child from her belly," she offered.

Guinevere stared impassively at Emma. "So you've spawned another who will seek my husband's throne and kingdom. And I'm supposed to cry for you, because Arthur tried to secure our line?"

Emma stared at her incredulously. Snow had been holding back Killian in the shadows, keeping him well out of it. She knew his temper could snap more readily than Emma's and didn't trust him near Guinevere. But now Snow jumped forward, edging Emma out of Guinevere's line of sight.

"Killian and Emma sought nothing. They were living in Storybrooke, in the Land Without Magic, with no thought to this kingdom, when your husband stole them away from us. And he blocked their return, so Emma could not see her son. They can't go home," Snow explained in her most regal voice, the diplomat, the negotiator. The voice that makes you see sense, Regina thought.

But it didn't work on Guinevere. "I'm only sorry that he has failed. If he wants you dead, then so do I," she spat. "No matter what he has done or will do, I support him completely, and nothing you say will change that."

"He sent men to rape Emma," Killian said in a low voice that betrayed the murderous rage starting to bubble up from within. Snow inhaled sharply; she had not known that. "Then they stabbed her through the chest. She nearly died, along with our baby. Are you telling me this is justified, for no other reason than that your husband wishes it so?"

Guinevere looked at Killian as though he was a rodent caught in her pantry. "I do not question Arthur's motivation or his methods. If he wants your woman raped, and you dead, then I will find a guard to pin her down and run you through when he's finished."

Snow moved first, flying at Guinevere with her hand stretched out to slap her; Killian grabbed Snow's arms and secured them behind her back. He pulled her back into the shadows. Regina took hold of Emma and spun her around towards Killian and Snow, and in the same motion she snatched back Guinevere's voice. "Okay, that's enough questioning of the mad bitch-queen of Camelot. Clearly True Love also conquers reason and basic human empathy."

"No," Snow spat. "That is not love. No matter my love for David, I would never unquestioningly accept his decision to murder a pregnant woman, or have any woman raped." She shuddered. "I think I should know True Love, and this is not it. Either she is evil, or she's enchanted."

Emma was now helping Killian to keep Snow away from Guinevere. She looked at the queen hopelessly: "We have no idea what she was like in the past, so how can we tell?" Emma turned to Mairead. "Which do you think, Mairead? Evil or under a spell?"

"I can remember back when she fell in love with Lancelot," Mairead said. "She was not like this. She was strong and kind and free. I cannot imagine those words coming from her mouth."

Killian tilted his head to the side and regarded Guinevere. He remembered his conversation with Henry on the way to the library in New York. What makes a woman known for being good, for being independent, stay with a man like Arthur, Henry had asked.

"Blackmail or enchantment," Killian said to no one in particular. Then he spoke up: "I think Mairead has the right of it. Henry researched Guinevere extensively, and he couldn't figure out how the good woman he read about ended up with a scoundrel like Arthur, who was apparently bedding my mother all the while, and who knows how many others." Killian squatted in front of the queen, looking into her eyes. "I've seen plenty of people acting under duress, and she doesn't show any signs of it. I'd bet enchantment."

Regina nodded. "Okay, so we need to find out what Arthur used for this spell, then break it. Let's get her back to her chambers in the tower; we can defend it easily. We have the queen, so the guards won't want to attack without direct orders from Arthur."

Regina waved her hand and in a puff of purple smoke they were all transported inside Guinevere's rooms in the tower. Her enormous gilt bed glittered in the sun that entered through four balconied windows, all open to the air, a soft breeze blowing in past the diaphanous silk curtains. The bedding was embroidered in gold thread and the edges of the tables and chairs were studded in crystals. Every wooden surface was painted a vibrant pink. It looked to Emma like a very pretty prison, clearly arranged to keep Guinevere happy, but it seemed like Arthur's idea of what Guinevere might like: over-the-top, too sparkly, too impractical and too expensive to suit the woman Killian and Mairead had described.

"This actually hurts my eyes," Regina commented, turning away from an overstuffed chair in velvety pink fabric and silver threadwork.

"It's a bit Disney-princess even for me," Snow agreed.

Guinevere sat on her bed in a huff. She didn't have the emotions to cry; Arthur had taken all of those away. She barely reacted when Regina waved her hand and refurnished in stark black and white. "There," Regina smiled, "much better." Mairead's eyes widened at the modernist furniture.

"It just occurred to me that you were the target market for that disturbing white coffee table in my flat in New York," Killian laughed. "Should have saved it for you." He cast his eyes over the large room, looking for ways up to another room in the tower. "There's another room above us, possibly Arthur's space?"

"It hardly matters at the moment," Snow said. "You just need to get out there on the balcony overlooking the square, announce that you've taken the castle and the queen, and that Arthur's rule of terror is over. Then we wait for the king to have a tantrum and return. He seems to have taken all of his best forces with him."

Regina shrugged. "He relied on fear. I did much the same. You all managed to break into my castle – Killian did it more than once. I knew that very few would try, because they feared the consequences of being caught by the Evil Queen with no mercy." She looked at Snow, remembering her attempt to burn her step-daughter at the stake. "It worked."

Emma yawned, and Killian pulled her close. Regina sighed. "You best take Emma somewhere safe – don't tell us where in front of queenie here – for the night. Snow, Mairead and I will try to reverse whatever spell she's under. We need her back to her own self for this plan to work. If we have her on that balcony denouncing her husband, then the kingdom truly will fall."

Snow closed her eyes and hoped that David, Will, Bell and Henry had found some resistance to Arthur and could make it to the castle by morning. They couldn't keep this hostage situation going for longer, not even with Regina's magic.

Emma looked into Killian's eyes. "Thinking of somewhere nice?" she asked him. He nodded and smiled. "Will you take me there?" he asked. Emma put her hand over his heart, closed her eyes and broke into a grin. "Yes, of course, Captain." A moment later, they were standing in his quarters on the Jolly Roger, still rocking silently and invisibly in the bay off Camelot.

"I wanted another chance with you in here," Killian said sincerely.

"The new king of Camelot, and you want to sleep on this barely double bed and not in the castle you just conquered?" Emma giggled.

"I don't feel like we did much conquering today – more like walking in and redecorating a bit. Besides, I have no desire to be king of anything, and if this all goes to plan, I won't have to be," he said. Then about an octave lower: "And I think you'll very much enjoy that barely double bed. It means you can't get away from me in the night."

He removed her clothes one item at a time, pausing at each step to kiss and lick the skin he'd exposed. When she was standing before him in only her bra and knickers, Killian began a close inspection of her breasts. They overflowed her bra just slightly. He ran his fingers along the edge of the blue, satiny material. "You still going to argue with me about size?" he said. "I'm an expert on your breasts, love, and I assure that you need new bras. You're squashing the breasts that I adore."

Emma laughed. "Take it off then," she challenged him. He ran his hand slowly up her back, teasing little circles into her skin before finally reaching the clasp. He laid his tongue along the satin over her nipple, and felt it harden through the fabric. "They're more sensitive, too," he murmured. "No more biting, I think. Nibbling, perhaps." He snapped open the clasp and Emma let out a sigh of anticipation. He used his teeth to pull the bra away from her body and let it slip to the floor. He brought both thumbs to stroke across her nipples. Emma shivered.

"They are more sensitive," she admitted.

"Does this feel good?" he asked quietly, gently licking around the areola and massaging her full breasts.

"Yes, god, that feels so good." She gasped as he sucked one hardened nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue against the tender tip. "Killian, please… you can't tease me like this."

Killian trailed one hand down her side, rubbing over the soft skin of her abdomen and sinking beneath the elastic of her knickers. "Is anywhere else more sensitive, love?" he whispered into her breasts. "Because I want to fuck you while I suck on your nipples. I want to see if you come harder now."

Emma knew she was dripping. His fingers slipped south, but achingly slowly, still teasing at her carefully groomed mound, not yet tracking the wetness through her folds. Every nerve ending sparked up, waiting for his fingers. She slid her hands down her hips, tugging her knickers down past her thighs and finally coaxing them off completely.

"Killian, I can feel it dripping down my thighs. You have me so wet. Please please please touch me," she begged. He pressed his fingers into her folds, sliding expertly over her clit and leaving her gasping and writhing, still standing before him, parting her legs to ease his access. She tried to rub her clit into his hand, but he pressed a single finger into her, keeping his palm clear of her mound. He felt a few drops of her arousal in his hand.

"Oh, my love," he sighed, and he sank to his knees. He slipped both hands around to the backs of thighs, just under her bum, pulling them slightly further apart. He pressed his tongue flat against the inside of one thigh and scraped it up towards her centre; he could taste the tangy sweetness all along the inside of her upper thigh. Then he removed his tongue from her thigh and opened his mouth directly beneath her cunt. He slowly slid both thumbs up her thighs, picking up the wetness and directing it over her clit. Emma's core salivated for him; he was rewarded with a drizzling of her arousal across his waiting tongue.

"Emma, you taste divine, even better," he spoke in a tone so gravelly that she could barely make out the words. Emma sank her hands into his hair to hold herself steady. He pressed both thumbs onto her clit firmly, stroking circles that drew moans of pleasure and gratitude from her. He pressed his tongue to her opening and then thrust it up into her. She circled her hips over his face and hands, feeling her own arousal building to a peak. His tongue and fingers traded places, two fingers slipping inside and curling, stoking the burn of her fast-approaching climax, and his teeth pulled her swollen clit onto the tip of his tongue. She began chanting his name softly, then louder as her climax built between his teeth. Emma screamed out her orgasm. "Oh my god, Killian, Killian…" she panted as he tongued her through her pleasure.

Still fully dressed, Killian stood to unbuckle his belt. Emma came back to herself as he pulled his trousers down his hips to free his straining erection. He sat down on the edge of her bed, drawing his trousers down the rest of the way to the floor. "I still want to fuck you, love, with those breasts in my hands and my mouth," he growled. Emma smiled and leaned forward towards the bed, wrapping one hand around his cock and spotting the drop of precum on the head. She licked it off, and swirled her tongue once around the sensitive spot near the head of his weeping cock. "I'm not the only one who's dripping."

Emma settled her legs on either side of his hips. She reached between them and lined him up with her entrance. He pulled her towards him, slipping just inside and letting her control the rest. Emma arranged her legs around him, crossing her ankles at the small of his back. She straightened her back, her breasts jutting out just at the height of his lips. Killian smiled wolfishly, this position exactly to his liking. She sank onto his cock; he felt the warmth of her wet walls soothing across his entire length. She felt tight around him, squeezing her muscles to stimulate him even further.

Killian pushed her breasts up with his hands, resting his head for a moment on her cleavage, where he could look down on his cock disappearing inside of her, slick with her juices. He brought his attention back to the nipples bouncing so tantalisingly in front of his mouth. As promised, he sucked one into his mouth. Emma moaned and ground herself onto his cock. She slipped one hand down to her clit, her fingers rubbing furious circles into the sensitive nub. He heard her begin to moan more loudly, the vibration strumming through her chest.

Killian snapped his hips up into her, keeping his thrusts deep inside her, only pulling back by a small amount. The consistent pressure felt heavenly; Emma let her head fall back as a second orgasm built. When Killian bit down gently on her nipple, she cried out. He felt her walls tighten against him in a rhythmic pulse. He grasped both breasts in his hands and groaned into her chest as he came, too, emptying himself inside her.

They both toppled over onto his bed, Killian kissing his way up her neck to her mouth. Emma grinned when he pulled back to look at her.

"So," she drawled, running her fingers along his jawline, "you're quite enjoying my pregnancy, aren't you?"

"I hadn't anticipated this side of it," he admitted. "And I doubt you'll appreciate this, but first I get to make love to you until you're pregnant. Then your body becomes – and I wouldn't have thought this possible – even sexier, so I enjoy that for 9 months. Then I get a baby. It's hard to see the downside."

Emma snorted. She snuggled into him and breathed deep. She wasn't going to ruin the moment by bringing up morning sickness and labour, so she just appreciated his closeness. This time tomorrow, things would be very different. They would announce that they had the queen, and Arthur would come back for the fight, likely send assassins after them again, as well. Perhaps he loved Guinevere in his own way, but Emma remembered Davy Jones' comments about Arthur's narcissism; the king would never give up power, not even to save his queen.

As soon as they could get near him, they had to kill him.

"Stop thinking, love," Killian pulled her closer. "We only have a few hours left. Enjoy them."

...

Davy Jones lay back on the bank of the river, the silvery dust of the shoreline clinging to his dark hair. He looked up towards the shifting world of the living. He watched as Arthur tried to mount a house with a missing hand, light a fire with a missing hand, keep his remaining men in line with a missing hand... Jones chuckled to himself. He'd been watching little else since Killian had sliced the hand off.

Killian and his friends had prepared the bait: Guinevere and the kingdom. His son had prepared to take Arthur's precious crown right off his lying, cheating, murdering head. Davy, though, wanted to know the whereabouts of something far more precious to him. Something Arthur had managed to steal away and keep hidden all these years. But soon enough, Arthur would be crawling in this very dust, begging not to sink into the endless river of mercury. Jones had no mercy to show. He had a partiality for his own kin and for those who protected them, but that was as far as it went. He loved Killian, and he loved Emma by extension, and Henry and the baby by further extension. No mercy required there; he would give them whatever they asked of him. But his overwhelming emotional range began and ended with vengeance.

Arthur had a plan to murder his boy and his boy's woman. But Arthur hadn't counted on Jones watching every move, listening to every conversation. First Jones would let his Killian take the throne. And then, Jones would truly let hell rain down on the false king's head.

Jones shifted his gaze to Emma's father, and smiled to himself. Prince Charming had been as good as his word. Tomorrow, they would ensure the safety of their children once and for all.


	22. Chapter 22

_**Apologies for the length of time between updates. I am still very much committed to this fic! Reviews would be hugely appreciated; they really do keep me motivated. Thank you!**_

David had manipulated people before. He had no moral problem with lying; he was a prince, and running a kingdom and being a slave to honesty did not always mix well. However, he experienced twinges of guilt over manipulating Belle, Will and especially Henry.

Will had been as good as his word: with less than 24 hours to organise a resistance movement against Arthur, Will had tracked down leaders and created a coherent group of several hundred men and women willing to face down Arthur at the castle. David filed away the thief's unexpected abilities to lead and organise; princes needed such rare skills, and David had never previously considered Will to be in possession of them.

The others believed that an 'army' – even a hastily-assembled troop armed with second-hand weapons – was necessary to defeat Arthur. David knew otherwise. He had already located the lynchpin in Davy Jones' plan. Neither man was willing to risk Killian and Emma in this fight; Emma especially had to be kept well away from the castle once Arthur arrived. No, the 'army' was needed to fill the oncoming vacuum of power once the king fell. Davy Jones had planned no further than personal vengeance; David refused to participate if their plan would plunge Camelot into civil war.

He followed Will into the town, Jones' missing piece clutched firmly in his jacket pocket, dug from the frozen ground near an enchanted lake, exactly where Jones had said it would be. The light magic of the place had kept a demon like Jones from entering, but the prince had succeeded in many a magical quest before. He had located and liberated the prize, alone, within the space of an evening.

Now they marched, hundreds, as quietly as a pack of hunting wolves, trekking through the forest outside Camelot in the pre-dawn gloom without so much as snapping a twig beneath their feet. Will and Belle led the way, sworn to assemble below the castle walls by first light, while gathered information from those near the back of the group.

David made his excuses and slipped away. He needed to find a way to Guinevere's tower before Emma and Killian returned.

...

Snow awoke not long after she'd fallen asleep. Even from the heights of the Guinevere's tower room, she couldn't see a hint of the sun on the horizon. Regina had made quick work of reversing the spell that held Guinevere bound to Arthur, but the revived Guinevere retained all of her memories: of Arthur taking her, night after night, when she had never wished him to touch her again; of Lancelot's death; of every murder that Arthur had her plan, and perpetrate. She had sobbed and wailed; Snow, Regina and Mairead had held her back from throwing herself over the balcony when she realised what had been going on for all these years.

The queen had finally fallen asleep only an hour previously, and Snow, Regina and Mairead had followed, exhausted. Now she woke to a familiar closeness: David, kneeling beside her on the tile floor of Guinevere's room, pressing a kiss to her lips.

"David," she said softly, astonished, "how did you get here?"

"This castle allows its enemies in, the better to trap them inside," David explained. "I had to be here. Where is Emma?"

Snow shook her head. "Killian took her away, but none of us know where they've gone. They are returning at dawn to make the announcement. We have Guinevere…" Snow nodded to the sleeping queen, "and she will support Killian."

David leaned back against a wall and pulled Snow onto his lap. "Today will test all of us, Snow. Promise me you will trust me." He rubbed his thumb over Snow's wedding ring. "No matter how insane it seems, please promise to keep your faith in me."

Snow put her hands on both of his shoulders and pushed him back. "Charming, tell me. Whatever it is, tell me now." But she was cut when Emma and Killian suddenly appeared on the balcony to her left, in David's clear line of sight, snogging as though they had no awareness of anyone else. Killian's shirt hung open and Emma's dress was still partially unlaced down the back. Killian was skimming one hand up and down her exposed skin, the other cupping her arse through her dress. Emma one hand over Killian's bare chest, over his heart, and her eyes were closed against the outside world.

David coughed. Loudly. Emma pulled her head away from Killian as though he'd stung her. Killian slid his hand from her arse to her lower back in deference to David, but he refused to relinquish his hold on her entirely. This led to a bit of a struggle, as Emma tried to put some space between herself and her pirate, and Killian continued to resist. David finally growled, "Let her go, Hook," and stomped over to force the issue.

Regina raised a weary head from the enormous bed where she'd fallen asleep next to Guinevere. "David… what the… what time is it?" She raised her half-open eyes toward the eastern window, then took in the sight of the half-dressed couple before her. "God, it is too early for this stupid argument. Prince, she's pregnant. Do I need to have Hook spell out in graphic detail how he put the baby in there?"

Regina threw her legs over the side of the bed and managed to look almost instantly in charge. "I doubt you'll appreciate the tale. She has no virtue left to protect, David. Now back off. And Hook, let her go and get yourself dressed. None of us need to see the two of you hard at it ever, and certainly not this early in the morning." Regina positioned herself behind Emma, carefully shifting Emma's hair over her shoulder and lacing up the back of her dress.

Snow pushed herself up off the ground, now completely awake. She stood next to Regina, and they regarded the couple together. "They'll need to change clothes, something that the people of Camelot will identify as regal," Snow remarked. Regina waved her hand in Killian's direction and the two women regarded him again. The black tunic and breeches, while not leather, seemed to suit him, looking suitably royal but still with a hint of his usual pirate attire. Regina then turned to Emma and waved her hand again. Emma was in a deep blue dress with gold trim, long and clinging, with an exposing neckline that Killian immediately appreciated.

"Now that dress suits your new shape, love," he smirked.

"They are not that much bigger," Emma hissed.

David scowled at the dress. "Neckline, Regina. Emma looks a bit… underdressed… to take the throne."

"Nonsense," Killian countered. "Shows off her assets to great effect."

"Don't underestimate the importance of appearance in Camelot." They all turned back to the bed, to the voice. Guinevere had propped herself up with one hand on the bed. She blinked at Killian with bleary, tear-stained eyes. "Captain Jones…" She faltered. "I owe you the most profound apologies."

"Ah, no, Your Majesty, none of this was truly you, it was Arthur…" Killian cast about for the correct words to say to calm her.

Guinevere began crying again, picking up where she had left off the night before. "Oh, no, Captain Jones. I have wronged you in the most grievous way. I know I wasn't myself, but…" the queen breathed deeply a few times. "I can never repair the damage I have done to you."

Killian tilted his head to one side. He looked over at David, who was shifting uncomfortably by the wall, trying to sink into the background.

"What do you mean, Queen Guinevere? Arthur has chased us, harmed us, yes, but thankfully nothing on the scale you seem to be suggesting…"

Guinevere turned her eyes away from Killian as the tears kept falling. Emma shifted closer to Killian and he put his arms around her. Guinevere continued: "Captain Jones, please understand that I was under the spell's command. I would never have done it, never…"

Killian felt himself growing impatient. "Done what?" he demanded.

As Guinevere broke down completely, Mairead came to sit next to the queen. "Killian," Mairead said quietly, "It was Guinevere who killed Orla. She killed your mother."

Emma didn't gasp and Killian didn't blink. They held onto each other silently and let that news sink in. Killian found his voice, but it came out with more anger than he intended. "How? No more useless tears and apologies. Just tell me."

As Guinevere continued to cry into Mairead's lap, Killian's aunt reached out for his hand. "Killian, darling boy, come sit." When he made no move, Regina gave a gentle tug on his arm. "C'mon, Hook, we need to hear this." Emma pulled a chair up close to Mairead for him, and settled herself on its arm when he took the seat.

Mairead began, in her voice that sounded so like Oona's soothing tone: "After your birth, Orla knew that Arthur believed you to be his son. She had never left your father, and lived with him most times, and she also knew that the dates did not match up for Arthur. None of this made any difference, Arthur was convinced, and you were as good as dead. So she took you and Liam and ran back to Davy. He took her back – he always did – he loved her no matter what she got up to.

"Orla convinced him to run. He took you boys on that ship of his, but while he disappeared with you, Orla returned to Camelot to confront Arthur herself. He had spies everywhere, then as now, and he knew that Orla was coming to kill him and save her child. So he had Guinevere approach Orla; they had always been friends. Orla didn't know that Arthur was controlling her…" Mairead trailed off, not wanting to make the account graphic, to spare whatever feelings he might have.

Killian heard the story out in silence, a practiced, neutral look on his face. "That's why my father traded his soul to the devil? To become the guardian of the Underworld and go after her?"

Mairead nodded. "Yes, he wanted to go after her, but he also knew that he could forever protect you, keep you alive by refusing to let you die and cross over. When the time came, he could protect your life."

Killian looked at the ground, as though trying to tease some sense of the situation from the tiles. None of this matters, he told himself; it's pointless nostalgia. Guinevere wants to assuage her guilt, so fine, he could tell her that he forgave her if that would help. He didn't, he simply didn't care about her. All of this, this whole journey, was, for him, about finding a place and time where he and Emma and Henry and their baby… babies one day? … could be happy and safe. He unconsciously slid his right hand around to Emma's still-flat stomach.

"Very well," he said finally, his voice flat and emotionless. "I forgive you, provided you will stand next to us on that balcony and denounce your husband."

Guinevere looked up. "Of course, yes of course, anything to stop that monster."

Killian stood up and brushed down the clothing that Regina had conjured for him. He took Emma's hand and pulled her to her feet in front of him. "The sun's up, love, and people are gathering in the square. Let's make this announcement and get Arthur back, so that we can finish this and go home."

Emma smiled at him and took his face in her hands. She kissed him deeply, and even David kept his peace in the background and waited for Killian to pull back. When he finally broke away from Emma's kiss, Killian held out his right arm to her, and she slipped her hand through to hang onto him.

"Shall we?" he said, lifting his eyebrows, and she walked tall and straight onto the balcony with him, once again trying to channel the princess she had never been.

…

Belle looked up from the centre of the square, where she and Will had gathered their makeshift "army". She shielded her eyes from the rising sun, waiting for Killian and Emma to appear on the balcony. Finally, she caught the shimmer of a tiara high about in the tower, and saw Emma standing next to Killian, looking every bit as Regal as Snow and David ever had back in the Enchanted Forest. From a distance, she couldn't make out details, it was more an impression of royalty and wealth and power that the two of them seemed to carry off surprisingly well for a pirate and bailbonds person.

"Bloody pirate all jumped up in his finery," Will whistled next to her. "Wouldya look at that then."

Henry rushed up to them, and Belle squeezed him against her side. "Look at your Mom!" she grinned at him, a few tears gathering in her eyes. Henry grinned right back, "She looks amazing," he agreed, his voice rich with pride. "And Killian."

Guinevere appeared to the side of Killian and Emma, and she introduced Killian as Arthur's true son and rightful heir. She explained that her husband the king had died, and that the people should accept Killian, as she had, as Camelot's true King. The crowd gasped but remained riveted to the scene on the balcony.

Killian delivered his speech in a loud, commanding voice, but Will heard almost none of it. He scanned the crowd, looking for dissenters, for anyone demanding proof of Arthur's death or denouncing Killian. He vaguely picked up the usual promises… safety, prosperity, honour, blah, blah, blah… but Will knew that this was all for show and that Killian had no intention of ruling any kingdom and particularly not this one.

When the speech finished, Killian and Emma melted away, and Guinevere came to the fore again, where she spoke and calmed the crowd and anticipated their questions. Even the guards and castle loyalists didn't seem to know what to make of the news. The king was dead, long live the king. No one seemed to question the veracity of the queen or her loyalty to Arthur. Will, Belle and Henry breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"What now?" Belle asked, pressing against Will.

"Now we wait for Arthur," he said, "and we hope them up there have a plan to kill 'im. Because he is going to be out for blood."

…

David stood nervously, just out of sight of the balcony, as Killian and Emma stepped back inside. Snow threw herself at her daughter, so proud of her little girl who looked and sounded as though she had been raised in the castle in the Enchanted Forest after all. David gave his daughter a crushing hug, and reached to shake Killian's hand.

"How do you feel now that you're a king?" David grinned.

"Like an imposter who's waiting to murder the real king and hand this place over to someone who cares," Killian shot back. "If I never see Camelot again, it will be too soon."

David's smile faltered a bit, but he nodded in agreement. Some part of him couldn't help being a bit drunk on the fantasy that his daughter had grown up a princess, and married a king. A fantasy that Emma shattered with her next words.

"This goddamn corset is digging in everywhere," she swore loudly. She rubbed inelegantly at her lower back and then readjusted her cleavage. She cast an unimpressed glance at the platter of bread and fruit that had been brought up for breakfast. "I would kill for some onion rings," she added.

David sighed. He reached into his pocket and found the talisman that Jones had tasked him to find. He subtly pulled Snow back towards him, leaving Emma and Killian to speak with Regina. "Remember," he whispered to her, "please remember to trust me." Snow searched his eyes for some hint of his intentions. "Arthur will be here soon to fight for his kingdom. I can't risk Emma, and the baby, and Jones won't let me risk Killian, either."

Snow balked. "Jones? What does he have to do with this?"

And suddenly another, deeper voice was whispering in her other ear, sending shivers down her spine and all the way to her toes. "You shall soon find out, milady." She whipped her head around to find Jones standing over her, a fresh black longcoat over his white shirt, trousers and waistcoat, a red cravat twisted elegantly around his neck. "Do not fear, milady, your good husband and I have struck an accord to keep our children safe."

Killian stiffened at his father's arrival, and completely lost the calm he'd been clinging to since Mairead had recounted the tale of his mother's death. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Killian boomed across the room. Emma shrank into herself for a moment at the raw anger in his voice. She had lifted her foot to walk over and greet his father, but discretely set it back down again at the sound of Killian's voice. Even it went against her nature, she owed her boyfriend a solid display of loyalty, even it meant freezing out Jones.

Jones crossed the space between them and leaned down to place a kiss on Emma's cheek in greeting. Killian unceremoniously swept her out of his path. "Stay away from her," he growled.

"Killian… son," Jones appealed to him, but Emma felt Killian's muscles tense beneath her hands, "I hope you'll understand, but I simply cannot risk you, or Emma, and certainly not my grandchild, in the coming fight. Killian knocked it away. "I'm sorry, my boy, but I have to do this…"

Jones waved his hand across Killian and Emma. White smoke surrounded them, starting at their feet and swirling up around their bodies. Emma clung a bit tighter to her pirate. She tried to counter the spell with her own magic, but could not overpower Jones. "Papa, don't…" she called to him.

Jones reached his hand through the fog of magic and gave her hand a quick squeeze. "I'll bring you back soon enough," he smiled sadly at her.

Killian yelled out in rage for a moment, but then disappeared along with Emma. Jones dropped his head briefly, but quickly recovered himself. He looked back to David. "Do you have it, Prince?"

David nodded and handed over the plain, gold ring he'd brought for Jones. Davy Jones twisted it back and forth in his hands and considered his next move. Regina looked aghast at the two men. "What have you done with Emma?" she demanded. "Killian is over 200 years old, and the captain of his own ship, not to mention the current ruler of this entire realm. You cannot banish him like a child!"

"He is my child, Your Majesty, so that call is mine to make. They are perfectly safe," Jones assured her.

He twisted the gold band in his hands. "And now we wait. Guinevere, how much longer?"

"Arthur's knights have already been spotted riding hard for the castle, Davy. Soon, very soon," she replied.

David and Jones took up positions on the north and south balconies, looking over the approached to Camelot. Snow and Regina took the east and west lookouts. They gazed across the four corners of the land, and they waited.


	23. Chapter 23

Killian was still swearing and raining down curses on his father's head when he and Emma rematerialised inside the villa. The room appeared exactly as it had been for the three days back in the Enchanted Forest: the simple four-poster bed, the walls of windows, the attached bathroom, the water pump. He instinctively searched his surroundings for signs of danger, but he knew almost without looking that there weren't any. Whatever else he might think of Jones, he felt completely certain the man would never send he and Emma and the baby into danger.

Killian could see the enchanted ocean once again outside the floor to ceiling glass walls, with a gentle splash of warm sea rolling over a faded wooden deck. One of the huge windows stood open to the deck, letting the sea air blow through the room, ruffling Emma's hair and dress. The smell of salt and warmth and wood swirled around them. The room dipped and swayed with the tide, like a yacht moored to the dock, in the middle of a clear, endless azure sea.

"Ocean," Emma smiled to herself. "I see it, too, this time. He made it for you. The most wonderful place both of you can think of, is this." She felt him clenching his muscles, the hatred for his father still coursing through his veins. He turned away from her and directed his fist through the nearest window. It shattered fell to pieces at his feet, but his hand remained unharmed. Nothing in the villa could hurt them, but Emma felt the illusion falter under Killian's attack.

"Killian," she kept her distance from the murderous pirate, but called with her most no-nonsense voice, "this place survives on love. You can break it apart as quickly as I can if you let this hatred rule you."

"Emma," he tried to keep his voice steady towards her, speaking through a clenched jaw, "we have quite literally been sent to our room by our parents. It was obvious that David was in on this as well."

Emma thought back to their first time in the villa. Killian had been managing her emotions then, keeping quiet about love and anything deep that might frighten her, and finally tricking her into breaking the spell so that they could escape. She wasn't as good as he was at reading emotions and responding to them, but she knew she had to dissipate the anger. And she knew how. She sat heavily on the bed and put her face in her hands, willing some tears to fall, and letting out a quiet sob. The effect was instantaneous; Killian dropped to his knees in front of her, all concern.

"Love, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Is it the baby?"

Emma shook her head, not wanting to cause him any actual worry. She sniffled through her fingers, keeping her face covered, "I don't know how to make you happy. You're so angry with him, and then you get angry with me…"

"No, love, no. I am not angry with you…"

"And I know it was patronising, what they've done, sending us here… but they did it to keep us safe. David told us that he and Papa," and here Emma felt Killian tense up all over again – dammit, tactical error, she was no good at this - "had spoken in the Underworld, and they've obviously plotted together, let us do our bit and then get us out of the way until it's all over." She chanced a look through her fingers, and tried to locate a few more tears.

Killian remained on his knees, taking her hands in his. Emma nervously awaited his response. "Love, you're shite at this," he said finally. "You lack the necessary subtlety. If you want to distract me from whatever emotion I may be displaying, just get undressed. It will always work." He raised an eyebrow. "I assure you that you will always be able to manipulate me through sex."

Emma lifted her tear-free face and regarded him coolly. "Do you think it's safe to go swimming?" she asked.

"Yes, this isn't just the villa. He's clearly created a whole landscape for us. Safe as houses," Killian answered, a bit bemused at the apparent non-sequitur.

"Fine then," she stood up and gave the bow at the back of her dress a harsh tug, setting it free. Her dress dropped to the floor with a whoosh. "I'm going swimming. Naked." Her enhanced breasts swayed enticingly as she made her way to the dock outside the window.

Killian nodded in approval and started tugging at the bindings of his trousers and waistcoat simultaneously. "Right behind you, love. Just want to watch you walking away…" He sighed happily. Was she a little bit curvier around the hips as well? Maybe his campaign of manipulating her into sleeping and eating more regularly was working. "God, you are incredibly gorgeous, love."

"You know, Killian, I've never been on a holiday to the sea, somewhere warm and non-Neverland," she said, arranging herself on the deck so that her feet splashed in the water. "No one ever took me to the ocean as a kid. Neither did Neil, though he talked a good game. Oh, the sea is so luscious here. Like a bath."

Killian walked out on the dock next to her, entirely naked as well. He dove straight in, swam a few metres and then came back to her, propping himself up on the dock with his arms while his body swayed in the sea.

"Coming in?" he asked. "There's a beach over there which I feel will be idyllic, perfect for your first seaside holiday." He smiled and held out his hand. "I'll give my father this, he knows how to put together a beach paradise."

Emma slipped into the water next to him and wrapped herself around his wet frame. "I promise to sail you and Henry out on the Jolly Roger, sail someplace warm and sandy." He encircled her with one arm, still hanging off the dock with the other, and kissed her. She angled her head to let him reach in more deeply, wrapping her legs around his waist. He broke the kiss and lifted her slightly, so that her breasts broke over the surface of the water. He leaned down to lick the salt water from her nipples. Emma arched her back at the sensation. She tilted his head back up to her and kissed him again.

"Shall we swim for the beach?"

"Aye, love, lead the way."

…

Arthur did not keep them waiting. He had burst through the doors of Guinevere's room within half an hour of Killian's announcement to the crowd. David, Jones, Snow and Regina never saw him coming; he must have opened a portal inside the castle itself. His spy network moved fast.

His knights kicked down the reinforced door and flooded the room: five, ten, twenty streamed in, securing the scene, before Arthur himself strode in, sweating, filthy, somewhat bloody and decidedly one-handed. The knights pushed Mairead, Snow and David against a wall, but couldn't touch Regina, and didn't dare touch Guinevere.

"Lost something, Arthur?" Jones leered, grinning at Arthur's bloody stump. "At least my son had the style to come up with a hook."

"Your son? That little bastard is mine. Your wife never could say no when it came to me," Arthur shot back. "Where is he, then? Run away like a coward from the king, just like you did?"

Jones stepped a bit closer to Arthur, looking him up and down. "Doesn't look like the Enchanted Forest has been good to you. I hear the Jones family has been chasing you like a rat. Actually, I've been watching them chase you like a rat. You've been hiding in the dirt, King Arthur. Hiding from my Killian and his family."

Jones heard groaning and a struggle; he looked over to see Regina pinning one of Arthur's knights against the balcony railing, cutting of his air supply for good measure. She gave a flick of her fingers and sent the knight tumbling over the side to splatter against the stones of the courtyard below.

"Good thinking, Your Majesty. Emma noticed that Arthur always hides behind his minions. Let's even up the playing field, shall we?" Jones swirled his hand around the room and the knights crumbled to ash on the floor, then blew harmlessly out the open balcony doors.

Arthur looked temporarily lost. He edged towards Guinevere, grabbed her and held her fast with his left arm, and he held a knife to her throat with his hand.

Jones blew out a breath in disdain. "First hiding behind your knights, and now behind your long-suffering, long-drugged wife? You disgust me. But then, you always did."

"I didn't disgust your wife, though, did I? She screamed for me, again and again and again." Tears were running down Guinevere's face, but Jones took minimal notice. Mairead reached for her, but Arthur pressed the knife closer to the queen's neck.

"Oh, I don't know, Arthur. Perhaps it's only right that we ask Orla what she thought of you."

He turned the ring over in his hand, and gave it a quick kiss. "Orla, my darling, want to come out to play?"

A shimmer of silver smoke radiated next to Jones, and a woman materialised next to him. She had soft, dark hair that hung in endless curls down her back and bright, brown eyes that shifted colour, from deep chocolate to almost lilac, in the light. Her black dress seemed to absorb all the colours in the room. She watched the room calmly, taking in everyone, measuring their intentions and relationships, her face aristocratic and intelligent. Snow could see Killian in her calm appraisal of all that went on around her, her confidence and bearing. If Killian looked entirely like Jones, he had his mother's sharp perception.

Orla's eyes settled on Arthur and narrowed. She took a step to him, her arms and fingers weighed down with gold and gemstones that caught Arthur's eye. She sparkled as she moved.

As she passed Jones, he brought his hand to the small of her back, stopping her with his touch.

"Your sword, my darling," Jones beamed at her. He conjured a beautiful blade from thin air and extended the hilt towards her. She smiled and accepted the heavy sword, holding it with practiced ease. She tilted the point to the floor tiles and rested it lightly against her hip, leaning into Jones at the same time.

"I thank you, my love," she murmured to him, placing a small kiss on his lips. With Jones arm still around her, she turned back to Arthur.

"Orla," Arthur choked, so shocked that he loosened his grip on Guinevere. Snow dove forward and pulled the queen away from him.

Guinevere turned her face from Snow's shoulder and stared at the woman before her. "Orla," she breathed, "Oh, Orla, you're here." Guinevere walked to the woman as if in a trance. She ran her fingers along the length of the sword, and glanced at Arthur. Guinevere looked into the woman's eyes, tears forming beneath her lashes. "I never knew, my sweet friend," she said quietly, "They have woken me." Guinevere gripped sword until it cut slightly into her flesh. "Avenge us," she whispered harshly.

Orla raised the sword in front of her. "With pleasure, Guinevere," she bowed her head slightly to the queen. She turned her dark head to look back at Jones and her eyes sparkled. He raised his chin in Arthur's direction, a wordless commiseration that she should go ahead.

Orla brought the glittering blade across Arthur's remaining hand first, slicing it clean away from his arm. The blood immediately began to pool on the cold tile floor, and Arthur sank to his knees in agony. "That's for what you've done to my son and to Emma and to Guinevere." She took off his left foot next. "And that was for my life. But this," she rolled the sword in her hands, feeling its power and heft. "This is for my daughter's life." She stabbed the sword through Arthur's chest with all her strength. "And now my greatest and best love, my husband, will torture you forever more, for all eternity, and you will never escape his vengeance and hatred." She pulled the sword from his body, and knelt down next to him, to watch him bleed out across the tiles, watch the king's life drain away.

Jones dropped to a knee next to his wife, and when the king was dead, he lifted her to her feet. "A good job, Orla, and I shall keep your promise," he said proudly.

She threw her sword down on Arthur's body with finality. "We should throw his body over the balcony. If they see him broken on the courtyard stones, the people will believe he's gone." She turned back around to her husband. "Davy, where's our boy? Where's my Killian?" Her bright eyes shone with longing.

Snow, David and Regina were spellbound; here stood Killian's mother, a person they'd felt certain they would never know anything of. Jones leaned over to David and shook his hand. "Thank you, prince, for recovering Orla's ring. At least my boy will have the chance to see his mother now, however difficult it is." Jones trained his voice down towards the floor. "Jonathan! I'm sending you to collect Emma and Killian." The doorman appeared at Jones' side. "Bring Killian back, in a fit state to meet his mother, please," Jones added meaningfully.

…

Jonathan saw no sign of his master's son or the girlfriend in the villa. He found their clothing, sure enough: hers in neat pile on the floor next to the bed, his scattered along a rough trail that led to the glass door. Jonathan followed the path onto the deck, then scanned out across the gentle expanse of sea to the nearby beach. There lay Mr Jones and Ms Swan, tangled in each other and passed out from exhaustion, wet from their swim and covered with in sand. Ms Swan's long, sandy hair was dripping across Mr Jones' chest. Jonathan rolled his eyes and walked across the water to the beach, remembering his boss's orders to bring them back decent and clothed.

He clicked his fingers and covered them with a smoky grey sheet, then whistled low and loud to wake them. Mr Jones reacted instantly, sitting upright and scanning for intruders. He relaxed when he saw Jonathan.

"Have the adults decided to call us back?" he asked.

Jonathan inclined his head slightly in the affirmative. "Mr Jones, Ms Swan," he greeted them. "I need to have you up and dressed to return."

Emma grunted from her spot in the sand, where she'd been deposited after Killian sat up so abruptly. Without speaking, she whirled her hand as she'd seen Regina do so many times, and she and Killian were sitting in their Camelot finery again, washed and dressed and ready to play king and queen. Killian stood first and held out his hand to pull her up.

"So what did we kids miss while we were grounded?" Emma asked. "I assume they've killed Arthur."

Jonathan just gazed past them. "We need to get back." He fixed his gaze on Killian. "Your mother is waiting."

…

Killian remembered nothing of his mother. He had Liam's memories: smells, impressions, colours, sounds that Liam associated with their mother, but none of it was based on Killian's own recollections. And he had a feeling that Liam had made up many of the stories he told Killian about their mum. It seemed to Killian that Liam didn't remember much, either, the shock of their abandonment and the struggle to survive wiping out all that had gone before.

Emma held tight to Killian's arm, watching his expression carefully. "Killian's mother..."

"A trick, an illusion created by my demon father," he hissed.

"No, not an illusion, but the spirit of your mother, brought to the surface by a talisman that Prince Charming retrieved and your father's magic," Jonathan corrected.

"I knew David was mixed up in this," Emma groaned. She turned to Killian and stroked her fingers down his cheekbone. "Your mother, Killian. You'll be able to meet her." Emma had the stirrings of tears in her eyes.

"Aye," Killian answered thoughtfully. "Except that she's still dead. It's not Mary Margaret and David, joyfully reunited with you after 28 years. My parents and Liam, they are still dead and have been for two centuries. I'm not sure what this accomplishes." He met Emma's eyes. "I have had enough pain, Emma. I'm happy with you and the family we are creating. I would like to leave the dead where they are."

"Jonathan, please leave us for few moments," Emma told the spirit. When he disappeared again, Emma took Killian's face in her hands. "You tell me what you want to do. You don't have to meet her."

"The thing is, she clearly wants to meet me. It's rather difficult to deny one's dead mother that simple request," he sighed. "I know Liam would give anything…"

"Maybe she's been with Liam. Maybe she knows about him."

"C'mon, love, I'm not getting out of this, so let's meet my mother. And if Arthur's dead, that means we could return to Storybrooke. Find a home. Build a life for Henry and the baby."

"Babies, right? I thought you wanted more than one?" Emma smiled at him.

"Aye, love, that I do." He brushed his lips against hers and pulled her close. "Jonathan," he called out across the water. "Take us back to Camelot." Killian watched the grey smoke circle them, and he closed his eyes and breathed in the salty scent of Emma's hair and tried to keep faith in his present.

...

 _ **More's coming, soon as I can. Please, please review/follow/favourite. It lets me know you're out there. And thank you so very much to those who are writing reviews!**_


	24. Chapter 24

A hazy, slightly purple twilight set low beyond the castle, and in the square, Will thought that he found the light of this kingdom soporific and strange. Beautiful, he acknowledged, but creepier than Wonderland or Oz, places where even the quality of light screamed at every nerve ending to beware, that nothing is as it seemed. Camelot's light snuck in behind Will's defences, and he hated it, for he knew that despite the seeming calm of the twilight, chaos bubbled away just beneath the surface.

He pulled Belle into him a bit closer, and stepped practically on top of Henry. Will knew crowds and he did not like the look of this one. The king's disembodied hand, signet ring still in place, had fallen from the tower nearly an hour before and splatted gracelessly onto the cobbles of the castle's courtyard. The crowd had broken through the castle's outer gates and dragged this final sign of Arthur's death into the square. The people identified their king's signet and they began to spread the news: Arthur was dead. The proof of Killian's words lay before them in a bloody lump of flesh. The buzz through the square was loud and menacing.

Henry's eyes wandered nervously across the crowd. It seemed that more and more people were flowing into the square as the evening drew on. "Where are Mom and Hook?" he asked Belle. "Killian knows better than anyone what happens to a rudderless ship."

Will nodded. "The people need reassurance that a king is in charge. He should speak to the crowd again, calm them down."

"We should make our way into the castle and find them," Henry proposed. "Can you get us all in, Will, once it's dark?"

Will considered the possibilities. The crowd could easily grow murderous, and typically in times of turmoil, it was best not to be the foreigner in the midst. "Let's make our way to the gate and keep watch for an opening. We'll get you back to your Mum, Henry."

…

David eyed the crowd in the square beneath the balcony. He broke his gaze and found Snow next to him, her eyes closed in quiet contemplation.

David met her eyes. "We need to send Hook back out onto the balcony. That crowd will pull itself apart with suspicion and unrest unless they believe that a successor is in place."

Snow tightened her fists and huffed out an exasperated noise. "You should have thought about that before you quite literally entered into a bargain with the devil and sent our daughter away, who knows where." She breathed deeply, trying to maintain her temper. "How could you do that to Emma? To Killian? He's supposed to be your friend. He certainly is your grandchild's father."

"I was not about to risk Emma in a fight with a man who has already stabbed her and tried to have her raped," David insisted. "She and Killian have been running and fighting alone for long enough. I'm her father; I have a duty to keep her safe. Jones wanted Orla to have her revenge, and I wanted Emma well away from Arthur."

Snow shook with anger. This was David as Prince, David as leader of the kingdom, David who had forgotten that they used to take decisions together. They consulted. They discussed.

But across the room she spotted Orla, black gown shimmering as she paced the perimeter of the Guinevere's large room, Mairead at one elbow and Guinevere at the other. The women conferred in furious rush, their time limited and so much to say to one another. With a sudden whirl of her skirts, Orla stopped mid-stride and spun towards Snow. She rushed across the room, her jewelled hands held before her. Snow held out her own hands in automatic response.

"Snow White," Orla beamed at her. "A great princess of the Enchanted Forest. Davy has told me all about your daughter and how happy she has made my Killian. I have cried centuries for him and his wounded soul." Orla smiled deep from her warm, purple-brown eyes. "You tell me, are they happy together?"

Snow nodded without hesitation. "Oh, yes. They are. Very happy. They light each other up." Snow held Orla's hands and squeezed. "You must know, when you… return with Davy… I will look after him, Orla. Like my own son. I promise."

Orla let out a small sound. "Thank you, Princess Snow," Orla spoke correctly and formally, and Snow understood how Killian had picked up his precise speech and expansive vocabulary. He had always seemed unnaturally well-spoken for a pirate.

While Snow was reassuring Orla, Jones had situated himself behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her waist. He nosed aside her curls and lowered his lips to her neck. For all his swagger, Snow could see how thoroughly besotted he was with this woman. Orla leaned back against his chest and tilted her face into his chin.

"When will Killy be back?"

"Any moment, my love," Jones assured her, pulling her closer.

Regina watched the two couples from a quiet alcove across the room. She had known Killian for long enough to know that he probably would not want old wounds reopened, certainly not in front of witnesses. Orla and Davy, David and Snow… people so long connected to each other that they easily forgot that Killian and Emma's relationship was still new and fragile. Regina had to admit that the pirate had taken every decision he could to protect and adore Emma, and for that Regina was willing to give him her loyalty and help.

So she sequestered herself in the shadows, waiting, until Emma and Killian reappeared before them all. Snow catapulted herself at Emma, hugging her and whispering loud apologies. Emma hugged her mother back, and glared daggers over Snow's shoulder at David. Snow's ardent hugs had the additional effect of dragging Emma slightly away from Killian, and drawing her into a confrontation with David. Leaving Killian standing alone in the centre of the room, facing down his dead mother and the father he had repeatedly made clear he wanted nothing to do with.

"For fuck's sake," Regina swore at the Charmings under her breath. With that, Regina stepped forward. She put a hand on Killian's arm. He looked away from his mother, startled, and his wide blue eyes met Regina's. She nodded to him, business-like and simple. "As the adults sent you away earlier, I'll send them away now. Click your fingers when you're ready to have us back." Regina patted his shoulder in commiseration. "Good luck." With that, the room filled with a thick purple smoke, sweeping away everyone bar Emma, Killian and Orla.

…

Emma took in all that presented as Orla in a single glance – aristocratic nose, wild curls, wide eyes and a sharp intelligence about the face – and decided that there was no need to fear a scarring, emotional conversation from this woman. Orla held herself at a respectful distance and did not pitch herself at her long lost son. If Killian admitted to no memories of Orla, it stood to reason that she had little idea of Killian beyond the long-ago toddler's fleeting interests. Emma let go the tight hold she'd had on Killian's left hand, and let him wander a wide circle around his mother.

Killian took in every detail, searching for memories of his own, but it was all so far away past, and so mingled with Liam's half-formed memories and fantasies, he found nothing to link this woman to himself. When Orla sat on the edge of plush armchair, nervous but contained, Killian drew up a chair and set it across from her. He sat on its edge, studying his mother critically. Her genetic line seemed to have started and ended with Liam, long dead, no children of his own to pass down regal self-possession and enviable curls. Killian admitted to himself that he was, at least in appearance, entirely his father's son.

He flicked a glance to Emma's flat belly and tried to imagine a connection between this woman before him and his steadfast, whole-hearted love for his child, her grandchild. He came up blank.

"It's unfair, Killian, isn't it? That by virtue of dying young, I lost all rights to you," Orla shrugged self-deprecatingly. "But there we are." She shifted stiffly in her chair and held his gaze. "I do love you my son, and always did, always have. And that's done precisely nothing helpful for you."

A strange start, Emma thought. If Mary Margaret had been put in Orla's place, she would be sobbing in his lap by now, clutching his hands, begging for his acceptance and love. But Orla didn't seem the begging type, and if her opening salvo was meant to spur Killian into some sort of announcement to the contrary, one look at the pirate and anyone could see if would be a long time coming.

"Yes, I'm sure you loved me… love me," Killian nodded non-committedly. "Liam always said so." Emma waited for either one of them to continue this line of discussion, but that seemed to be all they had to give. His eyes looked dry and honestly so. Far more strangely, so did hers.

"Snow promised to look after you for me. I suspect that's not really necessary. And now of course you have Emma," Orla smiled and inclined her head to Emma at this. "And soon a child of your own. I hope, son, that you are never forced to part with your child, whatever the reason."

Emma thought about this. She had parted with Henry, but managed to build a relationship with his after 10 years apart. Henry had reached out. It had taken her a while, but she had reached right back in the end. Killian's face, though, was set to polite stone. He looked as likely to reach for his mother as a drowning man is to reach for a lump of heavy iron. Still, Emma reckoned she could induce a hug between them, but then gave that up as manipulative. Whatever Killian did or did not feel for his mother, it would be come by genuinely.

"Will it be possible to see you again, after this?" Killian asked levelly.

Orla shook her curls gently side to side. "No, it won't be possible. But I'm so happy to see you grown, well, and happy. You've made me very proud." Orla's eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled at him.

"Aye, well… good," Killian gave a curt bob of his head. He failed to see how anything he had done for good or ill could be ascribed to his fleeting relationship with this woman, or how it might inspire pride due to the seemingly inconsequential detail of his parentage. But over by the wall where she was trying to stay out of the way, Emma understood that one perfectly. When she'd first met Henry, seen his bravery and intelligence, yes, she'd been immediately proud, despite having nothing whatsoever to do with it.

Emma stepped forward and slid her arm around Killian's shoulders where he sat. "Thank you, Orla, for ridding us of Arthur," Emma said. "We'll be free now. We have a life to build together, thanks to you."

"No, nothing like it," Orla replied with feeling. "You and Killian drove Arthur out of the shadows. You survived his onslaught without giving in. All I did was put the final blade in." She swept her hands around to the balconies. "And now it's all yours, if you want it. Your kingdom to command, son."

Killian let out a breath. "I have never intended to be a king, and I do not seek it now. I do not want it now." He glanced out over the balustrade at the darkening square below. "I intend to take Emma and Henry and leave, tonight if possible, and never return to this cursed kingdom."

From below, Killian could hear the crowd growing fractious. They could tear each other apart, for all he cared. Camelot had been the source of nothing but pain for his family, and he was finding it quite difficult to avoid a confrontation with this woman in front of him, mother or no. Digging into her secrets and motivations, however, was unlikely to help anyone. He had survived centuries without this information, and now that the malevolence of Arthur could harm neither him nor his loved ones, he decided that he could live several more in peaceful ignorance. His hand strayed over Emma's belly. He had a new family to create.

"Well, we had best call back the others and prevent a riot," he tipped his head towards the square and stood. Orla rose to her feet as well, still studying her son. She smiled lightly at him and agreed.

"I know your father is anxious to be back in the Underworld, to see to Arthur's immortal soul," she added with satisfaction. Ah, thought Emma. If her family were inveterate pedlars of hope, then Killian's family did an equally good line in revenge and blood-honour. So many pages in the blank book of Killian's past filled in all at once in Emma's mind, and she found herself just wanting to skip ahead to the story-so-far, where the blank pages stretched forward, where she and her true love could write the rest of it together.

Killian snapped his fingers, and Regina heard the summons. She returned with the others, including Henry, Will and Belle, rounded up from the entrance to the castle.

Killian stepped forward to Guinevere and held out his hand. "Come, Guinevere, I will stand next to you, to hand over the kingdom to its true queen. You can rule in place of Arthur. I know that the people will accept you."

David patted Killian on the shoulder. "If that's to be your only act as king, you would have made one hell of a ruler. A fine decision, and good for the people of this kingdom."

Killian raised an eyebrow. "It would be good for the people of this kingdom to develop democracy, so they wouldn't be subject to the whims of monarchs, good or evil. The Land Without Magic has taught me a few things." He shrugged. "But a wise and generous queen will do for today." Guinevere took his hand and they strode back out onto the balcony again to address the crowd.

Standing out of sight of the square inside the room, Emma hugged Henry to her. Snow and David gathered close by. Emma held out her hand to Regina. "Thank you for giving Killian a moment with his mother."

Regina waved off the thanks and nodded to the window, where Killian's deep voice was extolling the virtues of Queen Guinevere. "Does this mean we can get out of here? There's still the matter of Merlin to settle, you know, before we can get you back to Storybrooke."

Emma sighed and squeezed her friend's hand. "I know, but let's sort that out tomorrow." Killian stepped back into the room from the balcony, and Emma pulled him into their little group. She tilted up on her toes to kiss him, and he slid his hand into her hair in response. He kissed her back just a bit more possessively than she had intended.

"Child present," Henry admonished in a teasing voice. Killian broke off the kiss with a grin.

"True enough, lad, and we need to be on our way at any rate." Killian paused to find Mairead. He called over to her, "I intend sailing back to the Enchanted Forest tonight, Aunt Mairead. Do you wish to accompany us? Your home on the square in Cath Harbour still stands ready for you, still owned by your husband's family. They will welcome you."

Mairead came close enough to take hold of Killian's shoulders, a damn site closer than Killian's own mother had dared. "No," she said, tousling his hair like a child, "I'll stay here with Guinevere and see to the new kingdom."

Killian ducked from her attentions and twisted gracefully away. "Goodbye, then, aunt."

"Back to the Jolly Roger w' us then, Captain Jones?" broke in Will's irreverent tone. "Can't keep the lady waiting any longer."

"Aye," Killian nodded. And as a mark of how desperate he was to get out of Camelot, he suggested that Regina and Emma simply magic them all back to the ship. Emma knew that Killian would prefer a horse ride or even a long walk back to trusting himself to magic, even hers.

Guinevere returned to the room, crowd settled and the cheers from the townfolk still ringing through the square. She was flushed and happy, quickly hugging all present, even Davy Jones, who looked even more uncomfortable with it than his son. Jones laid an arm over Killian's shoulder. "Let me take us back to your ship, son," he asked. Emma caught a hint of vulnerability.

"Aye," Killian nodded. "Get on with it, then."

A gentle black fog settle from the ceiling downwards and Emma felt the warm strength of Jones' magic envelope her. Everyone's magic felt different, and his, she was surprised to find, was surprisingly soft given the power he wielded. She felt her being wash into the fog along with Henry and Killian, Snow and David, Regina and Orla, Belle and Will. She lost her grip on Henry and Killian as the smoky breeze bore her away toward the Jolly Roger, but she sighed happily to herself. Whatever else Killian thought of his family, they would see them all safe home. She was certain of it.

When she opened her eyes, she was standing directed behind Killian at the helm of the Jolly Roger, with her head resting on his shoulder. Jones had reached into Killian's heart and placed her exactly where Killian wanted her to be. "Back to Cath Harbour, then, Captain?"

Killian turned to nuzzle into her neck, beneath a soft fall of her hair. "Yes, my love. And there we'll finish this."


	25. Chapter 25

Oona must have rung the village bell. It was the only explanation that Emma could come up with for how the tiny woman had managed to uproot every Jones in the surrounding area and bring them scampering to her door on the square in such short measure. Oona had barely released Emma from an enthusiastic hug of homecoming when she found herself being passed from one pair of weeping, welcoming arms to another. Every Jones brother and every Jones wife and what seemed like every Jones child insisted on touching her, making sure for themselves that she was truly alive and well. Such a recovery must seem like magic to this family, she thought, and indeed it had been. Jones magic – performed both by Killian who whisked her to an ER in another realm, and Davy who had passed his hand across her wound and healed her.

Oona sat Emma in an overstuffed armchair by the fire in the parlour. She arranged herself and Emma's feet and took her hands, asking in a delicate way if the baby still lived. When Emma assured her that both she and the baby were perfectly well, Oona let out a shuddering breath of relief and briefly rested her head on Emma's lap.

"We have worried for you, Emma, and wept not a little, too." Oona rubbed Emma's hands, still cold from the rigging and ropes on the Jolly Roger, now docked proudly in the harbour below the square. Emma felt someone behind her, brushing out her hair and arranging it in a complicated series of plaits. A pretty, dark-haired child in a starched pinafore stood in front of her, handing hairpins to the unseen stylist behind the armchair.

"Arthur's dead, Oona, we don't need to fear him anymore," Emma said, and squeezed her friend's hands. "None of his men will threaten this family again."

"Sure we never worried about a fight in this house, Emma!" Oona laughed. "Things are boring without you two here. We've all missed you. Where's our Killian?"

Emma had no doubt that Oona knew the whereabouts of every Jones, living and dead, without Emma's input, but she was prompting instead for information about Emma and Killian. "You know perfectly well where Killian is. He's on his ship, showing off to his clansmen. They won't be back before sundown."

Oona stood up and held out her hands to Emma. "Then come have a hot bath. We've one prepared by the fire in the kitchen, and little Fi has run off to collect a dress for you. Sibeal has started on a grand feast already, there's no stopping her, so let's get to the kitchen before too many cooks descend."

The kitchen was buzzing with energy and no men to be seen. More hugging, by relatives that Emma seemed to have missed in the first round, and then Emma found herself stripped of the leggings and jumper she'd changed into on the ship. Any quibbles about privacy were brushed aside, as apparently her pregnant body was now public property. She was dunked into a standing bathtub of hot water and jasmine oil. Talk flew around the kitchen about Emma's shape – showing, was the consensus, just a touch, to be expected early on with a second baby – and immediately a sister-in-law appeared with scissors and a needle and thread, seated near the bath and letting out the waist of a deep blue dress an inch or two.

Someone was massaging her shoulders. "Killian must be a happy man – your breasts won't fit in your old dress!" the seamstress giggled. Everyone started giggling over that, how much the men liked that particular side effect of pregnancy.

"He's so protective, anyway, your Killian; I can't believe he's let you alone with us."

Emma felt a bit defensive. "He worries about me is all…"

"Of course he does, a stor, he loves you beyond any sort of reason," said an older woman kindly. There were widespread murmurs of agreement. Then the mood turned critical.

"He loves her dearly, that's true enough. But he has not married her, and her the mother of his child!" Another chorus of nodding and whispering followed. Emma bristled in her sudsy tub of floral hot water. This felt like the adult version of the conversation she'd endured with the family's children weeks ago.

"We do not need marriage. We're True Love. I would never leave Killian and he would never leave Henry and me," Emma declared to the room, with as much dignity as she could muster naked but for a thin layer of bubbles.

"Absolutely, my love," she heard Killian's voice about the din. She turned her head and saw Killian leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He had a flirtatious smile on his face, but Emma could see the wariness in his eyes. She was vulnerable and alone in a room full of people Killian didn't know, family or otherwise, and he clearly was uncomfortable with it. He sauntered over to the tub, ignoring the calls of protest from the women about impropriety. He crouched down next to the bath and brought one hand to the damp base of Emma's neck, toying with the tendrils of hair that dripped down between her shoulder blades.

"What?" he demanded of the women. "It's nothing I've not seen before." And with that he pulled her face towards him for a possessive kiss. When Emma opened her eyes a few moments later, slightly breathless, she felt Killian being pulled away from her. The women jostled and prodded him towards the door with good-natured admonishments to stay out of the kitchen.

"No men in here at the moment! We'll return her to you soon," Oona laughed, shoving him full in the chest, backwards out through the doorway. Killian caught Emma's eyes for a moment before Oona slammed the door in his face. Emma had just enough time to see him wink at her across the room.

Oona rolled up her sleeves and tugged a now-sleepy Emma from her warm bath. These almost-sisters wrapped her in a clean linen towel, then in a sparkling white shift held closed at the front by a deep, blue ribbon. Her skin was rubbed with almond oil and her hair re-pinned where it had slipped its moorings. Oona smiled at the relaxed, exhausted Emma before her, and she quietly sent word for Killian to return. He stopped at the doorway and rather grandly begged permission to enter. One of the sisters threw a wet sponge at him for his mocking tone, but he dodged it neatly and sidled up to Emma.

"Now that, pirate, is how you treat a pregnant woman," Oona huffed at him, nodding at Emma. The sister who had been sewing up Emma's dress stood up with a flourish and lifted it over Emma's head. "Not forcing her to traipse across realms and haul heavy ropes about a ship."

"She should nay be lifting anything heavy from now on. You've a babe to think on," said another, stepping forward to lace up Emma's gown.

"I don't think I've ever successfully forced Emma to do anything. Not even take a nap," he groused. He looked over his lover from head to foot. She was pliant and pacific, soft and fragrant with the bath and the oil, and looked like she could sleep for a decade if given a warm bed. He had to admit that she hadn't look this well-taken-care-of since they left New York. She gave him a sleepy smile and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"She's exhausted, Killian," Oona chastised him. "This time of pregnancy some women can't stay awake for an hour stitched together, and she's been through all sorts. She must rest." Emma was shaking her head in protest.

"Killian, I'm not tired, and I don't even know where Snow and Regina have gone."

Killian pulled her closer to him and slid a hand over the slight swell of her belly. She had lost weight, even as their child began to show, and he knew it wasn't right. "They're fine, love, still on the Jolly Roger with my parents, saying their good-byes. My father says he will see you again, to help with Merlin, and that you're not to worry. Your own father is already around here somewhere, talking to Mac and his brothers." His hand was rubbing little circles over her lower belly. "Darling, you really mustn't worry."

She yawned and nodded. "I'll sleep after food. I'm starved."

Oona laughed. "Aye, well the one thing this house always has is a plate of food on offer. Why don't you two sit down in the garden and I'll bring something out to you?" Killian steered her out the back door of the kitchen that led onto a garden courtyard. He avoided the bench where he could remember torturing one of Arthur's minions for information and settled himself next to Emma on a picnic bench beneath an oak tree. They leaned back against the trunk and he kissed her. He looked up and grinned as the leaves and branches started to glow with True Love's magic. He needed to talk to the fairies again, he reminded himself, to find out what they knew of Merlin. And of the baby.

Oona came out with two plates of stew with bread and butter, and set them on the table before them. Emma tucked in without even looking up, and Killian and Oona shared a knowing smile. When she cleaned her plate, Killian wordlessly slid his food towards her. Oona winked at him and ducked back into the kitchen for more.

"You're not feeling sick, then? You said you felt ill with Henry," he asked.

"Mmmph," she said, taking a bite of bread and chewing as she considered that. "I was sick as a dog with him, but then…" she looked up and swallowed guiltily, realising she'd been talking with her mouth full again, then shrugged and pressed on. "Then again, I was also depressed and imprisoned and probably in shock, so maybe it wasn't exactly morning sickness that I had."

Killian looked pained at the admission. "And I knew I couldn't keep him, so it was all just awful. There is really no comparison." She swept a hand towards the glowing tree and nodded toward the kitchen full of female relatives ready to soak her, soften her skin, massage her muscles and feed her up. "It's not just that I'm pregnant by my True Love, who is even now sitting here armed to the teeth to protect me and the baby…" she smiled and squeezed his hand, taking in the sword and dagger on his belt and another in his right boot, "when Neal would not have crossed the street for me or Henry." She took another bite of stew. "I have my own parents, weirdly your parents who seem involved in our lives even though they're not alive, Regina, Belle, Will, so many Joneses that I can't actually remember all their names… and of course, in the end I have Henry, too."

Killian interrupted her meal long enough to hug her and place a kiss on her forehead. "I love you, Emma, so very much. You know I will do anything for you and our child," he assured her.

Emma laughed, a proper, happy laugh, even if he could see tears in her eyes as well. "I know you do, and I love you just as much. I do feel guilty about Henry. Stupid, huh? I must be some sort of masochist. I grew up with no one, like _no one_ , to love me or care about me, and then Neal abandoned me and that was the most horrific situation to endure, none of it really my fault… and instead of feeling like the victim I was in that time, I just feel guilty. About Henry. About not making the right choice for him." She sighed. "Although I guess it was the right choice for him. Regina loves him. He had everything I never did, and that's what I wanted." She was sniffing now, meal abandoned.

Killian had her tucked against his shoulder was stroking her hair, whispering gently to her, when Oona reappeared with fruit and cake for Emma and another plate of stew for Killian. She arched an eyebrow at Killian, clearly blaming him for reducing his pregnant girlfriend to tears.

"Emma," she said softly. "Stop crying and eat vanilla cake and berries. The baby wants it." Emma snorted and smiled. She ate up the cake, unaware that Snow, Regina and Belle were now watching from the kitchen door, along with all of the sisters-in-law, everyone sighing in contentment that Emma was doing as she was told for once.

…

Emma convinced Killian that the meal had woken her, so she wandered through the house in search of Henry. She found him in the square outside the front door, teaching football to a large crowd of tweens and teens with a small ball that in no way resembled a football. She glanced around the square, and spotted Will, David and two of Mac's brothers milling about, armed and ready, protecting the family's children as they played unawares.

"Hey, Mom!" he waved when he saw her. "They've been teaching me… what was it called?"

"Hurling," supplied a blond teenaged boy who looked as tall as she was.

"So I was trying to explain soccer. Can you magic us a ball?" he asked hopefully.

Emma smiled and Henry held out his hands. In a shimmer of white light, a football appeared In his palms. The assembled children sucked in a collective breath. "Thanks, Mom!" Henry gave her a quick kiss and ran off to the centre of the square with his new friends.

"Emma," David strolled up to her, trying not to look like her was about to deliver a lecture while simultaneously looking exactly like that. "I thought you were supposed to be resting."

She patted her father's hand and linked her arm through his. "I'm going to head up soon for a nap. I just wanted to make sure Henry was all right." They stood together for a moment, watching the children set up makeshift goals from bits of driftwood. Henry ran about confidently, explaining the rules and dividing the children into teams.

"Regina did an amazing job with Henry," Emma said quietly.

David put his arms around her shoulders. "And so have you. I wish I could say that someone did an amazing job with you, but the truth is that you are amazing despite the fact that no one ever did." He hugged her close. "Please, Emma, don't waste this pregnancy on regret over the last one. You and Hook quite literally glow with the security of your love, and Henry is happy and safe and well-loved. We both have enough to regret, I know, but let's promise each other we won't wallow in it, okay?"

Emma sniffled into her father's shirt and hugged him back. "You don't need my forgiveness, you know. But you can have it all the same if it helps." She pulled out the handkerchief that Killian had forced upon her earlier and mopped up her tears. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too, Emma." David felt his eyes getting wet. "You best get back indoors and have that nap. You and my grandchild need some rest."

Emma nodded into his shoulder and started back to the front door of the house. Killian found her fumbling with the doorknob, unable to open it properly because she could not see for the tears.

"Come on, love," he held the door open for her. "You're a right hormonal puddle of emotions today, aren't you? Let's get you into bed." He led her to the second floor, to a bright, airy bedroom with the softest, most comforting mattress that Emma had ever felt. She flopped into the centre of the bed, sinking into the thick duvet. A cheery fire burned in the grate. Killian slipped her shoes off her feet and lined them up with his boots next to the hearth. He pulled her back onto her feet and began unlacing her new dress, slipping it down her body and leaving her in just the shift. Then he turned down the duvet and settled her into bed.

"Will you join me for a bit?" she asked, grabbing for his hand.

"I'm not likely to turn down an opportunity to get into bed with you, love," he laughed. He arranged his sword and dagger in easy reach and crawled in next to her. "Everyone's coming for a feast tonight," he said, "they've been cooking since before we arrived, I think. But there's plenty of time for you to rest first."

"What happened to your mother and father?" she asked.

"We said good-bye on the ship… no, Emma," he waved off her concern. "I'm fine. Honestly. I know I'm supressing… is that the right Archie-word?… my emotions about it all, but just let me suppress. My denial and I are quite happy at the moment." He snuggled her close to him and let his hands explore her belly. "I'd rather focus on you and our baby for a bit, if you don't mind."

Emma melted into him. "Will you stay with us? You're right about me feeling hormonal and emotional. I don't want to be alone and I don't want to be with anyone else." Killian pressed a kiss into her hair.

"Go to sleep, love. I'll stay right here. I promise." So Emma drifted off to sleep, wondering what she was going to say to the extended clann tonight and hoping they might fixate on Princess Snow and Prince David and Evil Queen, and for once, stop asking her when she and Killian were getting married.


	26. Chapter 26

When Emma's breathing evened out and her grip on his shirt front slackened, Killian finally let his thoughts drift. He leaned over the side of the bed and felt for his dagger, tucking it blade-down between the mattress and the bedframe, where he could rest with one arm around Emma and the babe, and one hand on the handle.

Regina and his father had confirmed that the way back to Storybrooke had not reopened with Arthur's death, a fact that Killian had chosen not to share with Emma, though he knew she suspected as much. Back on the Jolly, he had made the excuse of visiting Oona and Mac to paper over the impossibility of returning home. Merlin had cast the spell, and it seemed to Regina that only Merlin could unlock the door.

Trying to think of every possibility, Killian remembered the fairies' promise to research a way around; it was time to pay them a visit. The last thing he wanted was for Emma to face the most powerful wizard in the realms. He had faith she would prevail, but he no longer wanted to trust her to faith and her own resources. She deserved to be taken care of, deserved to have her now extensive family protect her and smooth the way. And, he admitted to himself, he couldn't bear the thought of Emma taking a hit of Merlin's magic while carrying a child; he knew she would find such concern antiquated and condescending, so he didn't say it, but there it was. He had no idea from which direction Merlin might attack, or even if he intended to do so. Did he want Killian? Emma? Gods forbid, did he want their baby? He knew that the thought had already occurred to his father and to Regina: the product of True Love twice over, the baby was quite probably the source of Emma's erratic magic.

He closed his eyes for a moment to concentrate. David, Mac, Snow and Regina could protect this household. He would sail Emma to the fairies tomorrow – a short visit only, nothing to exhaust her - after she had rested and the family had welcomed them back with tonight's banquet. He would go himself, but he knew that his heart was nowhere near pure enough to grant him entry without Emma at his side. Also, he needed the fairies to analyse the baby's magic. He had in his mind that they may need to return to New York for the delivery, if the way back to Storybrooke remained blocked. He did not want to entrust Emma's health nor the babies' to the Enchanted Forest's version of medical care.

Too many possibilities. He didn't like it. He opened his eyes again as Emma shifted in her sleep, rubbing her face into his linen shirt. He knew he should take his own advice and stop worrying for a few minutes, just enjoy having Emma and his child safe in his arms, no immediate enemy to fight and his newly discovered family amassing below stairs for a party in their honour. He did what he had done since childhood, he lay still and listened. He listened to the sounds of the house and the sound of Emma breathing, enjoying the peace and ever-prepared for it to be torn apart.

…

Emma blinked and stretched, feeling Killian still lying exactly as she had left him, unmoving and watchful. The world outside the window had gone dark, and the sound of voices and music drifted up the stairways of the great house. The party had begun.

She slipped her arm beneath Killian's far shoulder and pulled him towards her. She let her hand drift across his face and into his hair, down though what could only now be described as a beard.

"Fuzzy," she laughed, "I rather like it." She continued to let her hands explore his body. "How long before we're truly late?"

Killian shrugged. "Plenty of time. Everyone knew you needed a rest." He unravelled the ribbon that held her shift in place and slipped the material down her arms. He ran his thumbs over her nipples and then lowered his mouth down to the breasts he had been considering for much of the past two hours. She sighed as he rubbed his beard across her breasts and then followed the same path with his lips and tongue. He sucked gently on one nipple and let another hand drag across her stomach, over her hip bone under the back of her thigh. He ran a knuckle between her legs and touched Emma as lightly as he could to still give her what she needed.

Emma wondered precisely when Killian had taken it into his head that she was to be treated with such delicate consideration. She would admit to exhaustion, but she knew it would pass. She did not feel unwell in the slightest. But she was no more or less pregnant than she had been when she'd been dragged down into a dungeon by Sir Kay, or twice into the Underworld by Davy Jones. Or when he'd thrown his jealous fit on the Jolly Roger. Oh, she thought. Oh. He's been scared. Deeply frightened. And now it was all going to be making love and butterflies and rainbows until he got over it. No more pirate. Still, he was working a reverent sort of magic with his tongue now. She felt the whole reasoning process slipping away as he slowly wound her up, her legs unconsciously spreading wider. She threaded her fingers into his hair and tugged for his attention.

"Mmmm. Up here, please, Captain."

He grinned and kissed his way back up her body, sliding in effortlessly as he gathered her up closer to him. He took his time, moving at a pace that would normally have her scratching her nails down his back for more. Instead she let him run the show because he was running it so expertly well. When she started to breathe out little moans that rose in pitch and intensity with every slow, deep thrust, he sped up just a touch. When she started calling out his name, he sped up more. When she screamed out her completion, he allowed himself a few hard, fast, uncontrolled thrusts before he spilled himself inside of her.

Even after he'd lifted himself away from her – none of the crushing weight she loved, he said he worried about the baby – he carried on kissing her, muttering over and over that how much he loved her. Emma basked. She glowed. She whispered it all back to him.

Finally she pushed herself up on her elbow. "Killian, we need to head down to that party they're throwing for us." She swung out of bed and quickly washed up, then wandered the room naked, picking up their clothing from the floor and laying it out on the bed. She shimmied into her shift again and arranged the sparkling blue dress on top. "Can you do up all these laces and buttons for me?"

Once he had buttoned up his shirt and Emma had fixed his cufflinks in place, he laced up her dress, pausing to run his hands one more time over her belly. "You're quite certain we won't harm the baby this way?"

Emma laughed. "I'm going to have to draw all those anatomy pictures for you again, aren't I? I thought you'd Googled all this back in New York?"

"I did, but that was before I could see that he or she is taking up actual space." He shook his head self-deprecatingly. "Now I have more of a sense of him. Or her. I guess maybe you've had that the whole time." He shrugged. "Listen, another thing… I, um, got you a little something. We're going downstairs in front of all these people, and I just wanted you to have a small gift from me to wear." He pulled something of out his jacket pocket that seemed to catch every bit of light in the room, absorb it, and reflect it back at her.

"Jesus Christ, Killian. Are those blue diamonds?" There must have been 50 tear-drop stones of varying sizes, interwoven with delicate silver metalwork. The piece was ornate, impossible to gauge its value, but intricate and architectural and utterly stunning. He stood behind her and signalled that she should lift her hair to bare her neck.

"Not diamonds, they're much rarer and much stronger. A stone that is mined only in Neverland, in a hollow that only the fairies can access." He fastened the necklace around her throat, his fingers lingering over her skin after he fitted the clasp together. He turned her towards the mirror over the hearth. "The stones are meant to protect a faithful love. Do you like it?"

She stood speechless in front of the mirror, letting her fingers move over the stones and silverwork. Killian hugged her from behind, and spoke in a quiet, seductive voice: "I've had the stones for years – by which I mean longer than you've been alive. Of all the things I've, well – let's say acquired – these stones have the most monetary value. When we arrived here on our last trip, I left them with an expert metalworker, and Mac has kept it for me since." He pressed both of his hands onto 'her abdomen, his arms encircling her. "Do you like it?"

She nodded wordlessly, and he smiled: "I'll take that as a yes."

She turned around in his arms and slid her hands up the back of his neck and into his hair. "Thank you, it's absolutely gorgeous, Killian. No one has ever given me anything like this, but then no one has ever given me trust or love or happiness like you do, either." She kissed him, slow and deep. "I love you very much."

"Come along, Ms Swan," he said, twirling her towards the door in time to the music they could hear floating up the stairs. "I have a sudden desire to show you off to everyone we know, and few hundred that we don't."

…

Every floorboard on the ground floor of the house creaked and protested with the weight of hundreds of men, women and children, all dressed in their finery. Emma paused on the stairs next to Killian, unsure for the moment how they would negotiate a space for themselves. All the doors and windows were thrown wide open to the square to the front and the garden to the back, but those spaces seemed as filled with music and laughter and chatter as the rooms inside. Emma took one unconscious step back up the stairs, but Killian put his arm at the small of her back and drew her close. They both hated large crowds - too hard to see an enemy approaching – but Killian trusted his relatives to have kept the party safe.

Regina saw Emma arrive, or rather she saw Emma's necklace arrive. Even with nothing more than candlelight to reflect, if flashed blindingly across the room. Looking at the crowed separating her from her friend, she sighed and magicked her way to Emma in a puff of purple smoke.

Regina whistled low. "Look at that. It's incredible," Regina said, touching the necklace. She nodded to Killian, still hovering protectively near Emma. "Did he give this to you?" Emma nodded, and Regina whistled again. "Well, I guess a pirate would know jewellery. It's beautiful, Killian. And it screams, 'Hands off, she's mine' like nothing else could. Well, nothing short of a wedding ring." Regina grinned and nudged him good-naturedly in the ribs. "Feeling possessive, Hook?"

Killian tightened his grip on Emma's hip. "Extremely." He spotted Mac and Oona talking to Snow and David through the parlour door. He considered drawing his sword to clear a path to them.

Regina took Emma's hand and pulled her down the last few steps, with Killian close by. He still had flashbacks to the last party they'd attended here, which had ended in Emma's blood reflecting off the cobblestones in the square. He wasn't about to let her out of his sight.

David managed to squeeze forward and create some space for them, and Snow fetched them drinks, wine for Regina and Killian and soda water flavoured with a local flower for Emma. "Oona, how many people are here? And why?" Emma asked, her eyes huge.

Oona laughed, a light, free sound. "Oh, word got out, it all went out of control. I'm just shooing people into the square to make space. We're setting up tables of food and drink out there, and moving another band to the middle of the square. That should sort the overcrowding. But they've all come to see the long lost princess and her pirate, and the king and queen, of course," she said, nodding at Snow and David. "Cath Harbour was under King George's protection, but of course his kingdom merged with Snow's after David took over as his heir."

Snow took Emma's arm and squeezed affectionately. "They're all hoping for a big announcement," she said pointedly in Killian's direction. "But they don't need one," she reassured quickly. "That's up to the two of you."

Emma raised an eyebrow and threw a baffled look at Killian. "Announcement?"

David spoke up, gruff and plain. "They expect that Killian will ask you to marry him." Emma chocked ungraciously on one of the little white flowers in her drink. Killian whacked her on the back unceremoniously. David continued: "I suppose as you've already announced your pregnancy, and given your position as princess, there's a certain protocol that people here believe you will follow."

Emma found her voice: "I am not getting married to satisfy some outdated notions of propriety," she huffed. Killian remained stoically silent beside her.

David sighed. "Public opinion is very much that I should have already put Killian to the sword for what he's done."

"Oh, for god's sake, David, I was hardly a victim of his advances," Emma rolled her eyes.

"Yes, Emma, I have lived in the modern realm enough to understand all of that. I am explaining the mores of this realm to you, as it's the one you're currently living in. And in this realm, Killian would never have dared… not without marrying you, and not without asking me for permission to marry you."

"He _did_ do this to me in this realm!"

Snow intervened: "Your father just means that if you had grown up here…"

"…which I did not…"

"…which you did not… but if you had, Killian would never have…" Snow trailed off, blushing.

"He would never have jumped you outside the sanctity of holy matrimony," Regina finished the sentence. "And frankly Captain Hook would never have gotten anywhere near the princess under even formal circumstances, and certainly not under naked circumstances."

Mac and Oona watched the exchange with barely suppressed laughter; it was quite clear that their kinsman had no need to marry Emma: their mutual devotion was evident to anyone with eyes to look.

"That's enough of everyone upsetting my pregnant girlfriend," Killian interrupted. "Emma and I will get married, or not, if she decides that the moment is right. It is no one's business but ours, and there is no proposal forthcoming tonight. Sorry, David," Killian held up a hand to Emma's father, who had opened his mouth to speak, "but you cannot expect to send a baby all alone to the Land Without Magic for 28 years, and then expect her to play by the rules of good form of this realm. By the standards of Emma's realm, I have behaved with perfectly good form. I have no intention of letting the baby grow up without a name and a father and a home. You should know by now that I will take care of her, and she will take care of me."

Emma gave her mother and father a quick hug to settle the argument, but did not contradict Killian. No proposals and no talk of marriage tonight. She took Killian's hand and pulled him towards the garden. People stepped aside and let them pass, except for Mac's family, who pulled them into hugs and asked after the baby. Killian and Emma made their way to the tree at the end of the garden where he had made her scream, as the children had put it. They sat down on the grass beneath the tree, decorated with fairy lights tonight. He leaned back against the tree and she leaned against him, sitting between his legs.

"It's too quiet," she said, straight off.

"The house is packed to bursting, two bands playing, enough food to feed an army and it's a fair bit louder than actual battles I've fought. What the hell are you on about, woman?"

She sighed loudly, unbelieving that she had to explain herself. "I mean we're stuck here and we're doing nothing about it." She turned around halfway and tilted her nose up into his jawline. "What do you know of Merlin? How do we find him? We could wait years… maybe all he wants is to keep us out of Storybrooke."

He stroked her hair and repeated the line of thinking he'd pursued while she was sleeping earlier. "I think we need to consult the fairies again. You're right, we should seek out Merlin. I know you want to get home."

"Where's home, Killian?"

"Pardon? I don't understand."

"Simple: where's home? Where you own property? Cuz that's New York. Where my family lives? Storybrooke, for now, but they're not from there and I feel sure Mom and Dad will want to reclaim their kingdom in the Enchanted Forest at some point soon. Where Henry will feel comfortable? Well, I'm not sure where that is. He grew up in a cursed town. Where your family is? That's right here. Is this home? The Jolly Roger?"

"Home is where we can be together, Emma. You choose."

"Ah! No. I choose when and if we marry, when and where we live? I just want to know what you want, Killian. What you honestly want, and not what you think I want to hear."

"I'd always chose to live at sea, but that's not compatible with you and children and our families. And just so you know, I do want to marry you, and I would marry you at any moment you choose. But I also do not need it. I love you, and I know that you love me, and not everyone has the benefit of fairies telling them it's True Love. I have no doubt of your love."

"Do you still want to be a pirate?"

He thought about it. "Not exactly. But I don't want to never have been a pirate, either. I won't deny that fighting skills and my willingness to kill when necessary have come in handy."

She nodded. "I love that part of you. I can't believe that any version of you in any realm would have asked permission of someone other than me before you had sex with me."

Killian grinned. "Good form or no, I would never have asked Dave for his opinion on the matter." He lowered his head to kiss her, running his hands along her breasts at the same time. One of Mac's brothers chose that moment to take a turn around the back of the garden.

"Ah, I should have known I'd find you two here. That tree again, huh? Just keep the noise down," he laughed and wandered off.

Emma stared after him. "What must they think of us? I will never get used to so many people wanting to know our business."

Killian shrugged; they were both loners and the opinion of others mattered fairly little to him. "So, do you want to visit the fairies, my True Love? Figure out how we take on Merlin?"

"You make it sound easy. How do we get there?"

Killian inclined his head toward her chest and ran one fingers along her ornate necklace. "It's not just a pretty bauble, love. That necklace will find its way home if you will it so. It will take us to the fairy hollow in Neverland."

Emma laced her fingers through Killian's and he held tight to her. She touched the fingers of her right hand to the gemstones and infused them with her magic. A soft, blue-green glow surrounded them and Emma could feel the damp vastness of Neverland behind her eyes.

As the glow intensified, Oona and Snow came out into the garden looking for them. Mac's brother had just reported that he'd seen them kissing beneath their tree, enjoying the relative privacy of the far end of the garden. Giggling, Oona and Snow ran out the tree and pretended to cover their eyes. "We won't look! But come in for a quick toast…" Snow stopped mid-sentence. She rounded the tree twice, and then checked out every other tree in the large garden.

Emma and Killian were gone.


	27. Chapter 27

Emma kept her eyes squeezed shut; Killian had her pulled so tight to his chest that she couldn't see anything even if she wanted to. She could still use her other senses, though. Beyond the familiar musk of Killian, she picked up the overwhelming scent of damp vegetation, mixed with the heavy floral sweetness of Neverland. She felt the flat of his sword's blade against her back as he stood tense, ready to defend her. And she could hear rustling and stifled giggling and the delicate flutter of wings. Her pirate relaxed and sheathed his sword. They had reached Fairy Hollow.

"You okay, love?" He released his grip on her and let an inch or two of air creep in between them. He brushed his hands across her face and smoothed her hair back then settled one hand over the baby. He looked down with obvious concern.

"We're both fine, Killian," Emma raised herself up on her tiptoes to kiss him reassuringly. "If you're so concerned about the baby, perhaps you shouldn't cut off my oxygen with that death grip." He sprang back from her a pace, taking her at her word. She laughed and kissed him again. "I'm just joking – god, you are never going to survive parenthood if you don't relax a little." She waved her hand around the supernaturally bright trees and flowers that formed a protective arbour over their heads. "Honestly, where could be safer?"

Killian raised an eyebrow. "Fairies, and you want me to let down my guard."

"Pirate!" He heard a shrill voice cutting through the still air. "Captain Hook!" another called. The whispers and calls and gossip buzzed across the dense forest, mixing with the insect song and breeze through the flowers, and it all created a background music of infinite peacefulness. At least Emma thought so. The sounds of Fairy Hollow soothed her. They seemed to be having exactly the opposite effect on Hook.

A swift beating of wings stopped just short of Hook's face and hovered there, and an angry whirring sound grew louder and louder as the little fairy worked up a good anger. "How did you do it, Hook? How did you worm your way back in here? You were banished! Just wait until Queen Clarion hears about…" The little lilac blur stopped her rant abruptly. Killian had stepped back enough to expose Emma's neck and the priceless gems that sparkled there.

"Eternal Spring stones!" The tiny fairy reached out tentatively and touched one, then drew back in wonder and considered Emma for the first time. Then she drew back slightly further to take in the whole tableau of Emma and Hook together. Their glow outshone the dim Neverland sun in the overcast sky. Emma found herself stepping back into Killian, a bit unsure of herself. The glow intensified, just as it had in the first fairy village in the Enchanted Forest.

Suddenly, the little fairy's eyes went wide with wonder. She stuttered and sang out in a high, pure voice, calling to the others in a language that Emma did not understand. Killian was smiling, though, so she reckoned that Tinkerbell had taught him enough of the language to know what was going on. She leaned in to ask him, but a sudden, deafening buzz stopped her. It seemed as though hundreds of fairies, in every colour – bright pinks, muted yellows, sunkissed blues – swarmed around them. Emma now started to feel a bit threatened. Normally that made her want to reach for a sword or a gun, but right now she just wanted to disappear into Hook. She felt bone-tired, and for once in her life, she just wanted someone else to take care of the problem. To take care of her.

"How have you tricked the Saviour into marrying you, pirate?"

Emma scrunched up her face in confusion, staring openly at the little creature. "What do you mean, marry?"

The lilac fairy fluttered in front of Emma and reached out to touch the stones she wore around her neck. "These stones come from a deposit beneath the Eternal Spring of Fairy Hollow. The minerals from the water seep beneath the sacred ground and harden over millennia – and millennia in Neverland is a very long time indeed – then the stones are mined from this deposit. The only one in any of the realms. They are harder and rarer than diamonds, far more precious. And they can only be given or accepted by True Loves when they marry." Emma looked unconvinced. "Go on," the fairy retorted smugly. Try to take them off."

Emma shrugged and reached for the clasp. It wouldn't budge. The necklace stayed fast around her neck. She tried to subtly use her magic to break the hold, but nothing happened. The fairy shook her head, "True Love is more powerful than your magic, even when the True Love is your own. Only your husband can unclasp the stones."

Killian raised his eyebrows. He had known that the stones represented True Love, which is why he had given them to Emma. He didn't know he had married her when he fixed the jewels around her neck. He had a feeling he was about to pay for this oversight.

"Well…" Emma growled slightly on the next word, "…husband… would you like to unlock the necklace for me?" Killian moved quickly to obey, not wanting to upset Emma any further. The clasp slipped open in between his fingers almost as soon as he touched it. "Fabulous," Emma deadpanned. "We're married."

"Love, I had absolutely no idea about this," he stumbled over his words, fixing the necklace back in place around her throat. "I knew they could only be worn by a True Love, but I honestly did not know…"

Emma cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Honestly, Killian? What does it matter at this point – I'm carrying our child, we're lit up like a string of Christmas lights and the fairies stamped 'True Love' on us before we'd even reached a one month anniversary of first…" she cut herself off and raised her eyebrows knowingly at him. He had a brief flashback to that first night in the Enchanted Forest, by the campfire, when Emma first opened her legs and hugged them tight around his hips. He shook off the reminiscing before he was carried away.

"It's not a proper marriage, Emma. I will still ask, a ring, a ceremony, your family, all of that… when you are ready. It's just a – you know – a Neverland-fairy sort of marriage." He smiled hopefully.

"Yeah, just a magically-bound-to-my-husband marriage, no big deal, just the latest thing we've stumbled into. You know, four months ago I thought it was romantic that you were meeting with take-away coffee with the right amount of sugar and cream in it."

He coughed nervously. "You're not… murderously angry?"

The fairies watched their conversation like a tennis match. They waited in silence for Emma's answer. The simple truth was that the fairies themselves still harboured a great deal of anger at Killian, but if True Love forgave him, there was little they could do without the Queen's permission.

Emma sighed. "If it had been up to me, we would probably be on our third date, with me still kissing you goodbye outside my parents' door. I was – well, clearly I was wrong. And waiting way too long. You were too patient with me." She put her arms around him. "I love you so much, and I'm not sorry that any of this has happened."

"I love you, too… wife," he grinned. He ducked a playful swat from her. But the chorus of fairies murmured loudly with protest. The Saviour had forgiven him, the Saviour love him, but they were not quite ready to let go of their anger and resentment.

"You will come with us," the lilac fairy snapped at them. "The Saviour may have forgiven you pirate, but you will still need to answer to the Queen for your crimes."

Not this again, Emma thought. She suddenly felt tired, in that bone-deep way that pregnancy sapped her sometimes.

"Killian, I feel a bit ill," she began, and immediately all the noise and the arguing stopped. She could hear the insects and the breeze again. She felt light-headed and insubstantial, barely able to stand, and both ravenously hungry and nauseated, all at once. Killian lowered her to the grass, sitting himself down next to her and rubbing her lower back soothingly.

"You must be hungry; we've had nothing to eat or drink in hours. I'm not doing a very good job of taking care of you, am I?" He looked up at the fairies. "Emma needs food and water. The pregnancy makes her feel ill if she doesn't eat regularly." She sighed and leaned her head against Killian's shoulder, reining in the nausea. A hundred winged fairies flew off in search of something to tempt Emma. The longer she waited to eat, the more ill she felt, and then it became difficult to eat anything at all. It started a vicious circle that could take hours to break.

Emma ignored the fairies. She closed her eyes and tried to connect with the magic of the baby. She could increasingly sense it as a separate magical presence, a complement to her own, but somewhat independent. _What do we want to eat?_ she asked their magic. Most food she normally liked made her ill even to imagine. But once, in the Enchanted Forest, Killian had fed her a strange green fruit, spiky on the outside and full of brown seeds, but firm and sweet and juicy. That was it. The only thing in the world they wanted to eat. So she held out her hands, and the fruit appeared in her palm. Killian opened his eyes more widely.

"That's rather impressive," he said drily. "Nura fruit doesn't grow in Neverland."

"And your hand wasn't in the Enchanted Forest, but I wanted it anyway," she replied, and she picked up the left hand in question and kissed it tenderly. "This is what the baby and I want to eat." She placed the fruit in his hand and raised her eyebrows expectantly. He smiled, pulled out his dagger and began peeling away the spiky skin, then handed it back. She ate the whole thing eagerly, and felt instantly stronger and more stable. Without a thought to the now hundreds of winged creatures watching their every move, he leaned over sucked the juice off one of her fingers.

"You might have ordered one for me. Nura fruit are my favourite." Emma looked into his eyes and opened his left hand. Another fruit appeared in his palm. "Thank you, my love," he kissed her.

The fairies had seen quite enough. "Pirate! We trust your wife is well enough to walk the rest of the way into Fairy Hollow?" A green blur whizzed next to Emma and rematerialised at human size. She handed Emma a cup of cold water with lemon. Emma thanked her and drank, offering some to Killian as well. "The queen awaits."

The fairies pressed ahead, with Emma and Killian walking along the path behind them, absorbed in their own thoughts and conversations.

"If the queen doesn't arrest me and order me killed, then maybe we'll get some answers about Merlin," he said hopefully.

"No one is going to kill you. We could take these fairies out with a fly swatter," she said menacingly.

"They're more powerful than you think, love, and we're on their home ground."

They walked along silently for a while, ducking tree branches and stepping over fallen vegetation. Killian was ticking matters over in his head, when a thought occurred.

"Emma, if you were able to reach into another realm for my hand, or for an exotic fruit, why couldn't you magic yourself a cup of coffee? Or… those pills you were on about?"

Emma stopped in her tracks. Why couldn't she? Why hadn't it occurred to her to try? "I'm not sure, but I think it has something to do with you. Your hand, your favourite fruit that you had given to me. We could try an experiment. What's something in Storybrooke, something small, that you don't like, but I do?" Killian laughed, and tried to think. He hadn't been in Storybrooke very long, really, and the time he had spent there had been largely taken up with fighting off monsters and witches. He didn't like the swan pendant Neal had given her, for obvious reasons. He hated the Crocodile. He wasn't overly fond of onion rings or donuts or fast food.

"You had this grey hat. I never really liked it; it covered up your gorgeous hair. But I presume you liked it, as you wore it quite a lot," he said.

"Ooookay," she gave him an odd look. "I would have left that in my wardrobe, in my parents' loft." She closed her eyes and walked up the stairs to the loft. Her wardrobe was on the left. She poked through her things until she found the hat. She grinned and put it on her head – even in the muggy warmth of Neverland, the hat felt cosy and familiar. She popped one hand happily onto her head and opened her eyes. No hat. All she felt was her hair, going wavy and unkempt in the humidity. Her face fell.

"No luck?" he asked with a grin. "Why don't you try to pick up some lingerie? When we arrived, you were wearing this black lacy scrap that held your breasts in the most mesmerising fashion…"

"Captain, that will do." Emma huffed in annoyance. "And I suppose you wouldn't have liked my birth control pills anyway. You were probably quite happy to get me pregnant."

Killian flushed. "I was, aye. But even I would have waited a bit, given the option. I don't know if that would have worked or not." He stepped closer to her, taking her face in his hands. "You're not sorry, are you? You don't regret… me, all this, the baby?"

"No, not at all." She looked into his eyes and still saw some uncertainty there. "Not. At. All. Killian, not for one moment do I regret this child. Or you."

…

Fairy Hollow looked to Emma like a dreamscape, far more than anything she had seen before in the Enchanted Forest or even other parts of the island. A strange collection of houses spilled over a fragrant, floral valley – little homes made of mushroom caps or leaves, secreted in trees or built out over an idyllic, sparkling stream of what looked like soda water. The colours hurt her eyes with their vibrancy, and the overarching greenness seemed to tinge even the air. The fairies converged upon a grand home fashioned from bamboo and glass, far larger than any other residence. The Queen, Emma knew, was inside. She slipped her fingers through Killian's and squeezed.

The Queen ambled onto the large deck at the front of the house and quickly materialised in human size. She strolled casually around Killian, looking him over from every angle. Her gaze reminded Emma of their first trip to the fairies in the Enchanted Forest, but this being Neverland, everything felt more threatening here. There, Emma felt that the fairies would ultimately allow her to decide Hook's fate, by virtue of True Love. She feared this lot might be less sentimental.

Clarion stopped directly in front of Emma and tilted her head to one side. She touched Emma's necklace and gave it an experimental tug. The clasp held fast. She saw Killian's lips twitch upwards just a bit. Clarion passed her hand across Emma's belly, as if seeking confirmation of the baby. The Queen did not smile, nor frown, and Emma found it impossible to read this fairy's mind.

"Saviour," she finally spoke, her voice clear and strong and operatic, "you have arrived here with one wanted for crimes in this land. Did you know of his crimes?"

"I know of his crimes, and I have forgiven him," Emma answered. "He is mine to forgive. Killian is my husband and he belongs to me."

The Queen smiled slightly at her naivety. "Killian may be your husband – and that point is debatable – but Hook is my prisoner. My claim predates yours." She looked straight at Emma. "Hook violated numerous fairies, stole these gemstones from us, now hanging so prettily on your chest. He must pay." With that she passed her hands across Killian's arms, and he felt himself shackled and chained.

Emma sucked in a breath. She reached out and touched Killian, and the shackles fell away. There was no way she would let this evil fairy out-magic the saviour. "You can't have him, Your Majesty. I told you, he's mine."

Clarion turned a cool gaze back on Emma. "I didn't want it to come to this, Emma. Hook must pay for his crimes with his life. We do not wish to harm you. If you feel some responsibility for him, then stay until the end." Clarion swirled a finger around Emma, who immediately felt herself tied to a thick stake by a light, silky and infinitely strong fibre. She tried to break it with her magic, but could not. She saw Killian being pulled away from her and shackled again, this time to another stake.

"Since when do fairies imprison an innocent, pregnant woman?" Killian spat.

"She knew what she was doing, taking up with a wanted criminal, and besides, we will release her at your death tomorrow. No harm will come to the baby or to Emma." The Queen had situated them a good 50 metres from each other and then she had them both turned, so that they couldn't look at each other. Clarion didn't want Emma's magic to find a way to free him.

"No harm?" Emma yelled. "You plan to murder my husband and this child's father. How can the baby be anything but innocent? He or she hasn't made any choices, but you plan to deprive my child of their father!"

Queen Clarion finally raised her voice, so that both Emma and Killian could hear clearly. "The baby has no voice and no evidence to give. In the morning, we will carry out the sentence. Hook will be hung from the tree at the centre of Neverland."

Emma quietened. "How can you do this? How can you kill my True Love? You know what he is to me."

Clarion walked back to Emma, so she could see the Queen drawn up full height. "We don't always want what's best for us." And with that, Clarion disappeared back into her grand house.

…

Emma and Killian spent the evening talking, well past the spectacular twilight that charged the air with gold and blue streaks. They kept talking beneath the stars. Emma refused to believe that after everything, she would lose her love to a mob of angry fairies.

"Killian, there must be a way," she said for the hundredth time. "Tell me what to do."

Killian fell silent. "Perhaps this time there is nothing to be done. My past has caught up with us."

"Your father…"

"Even Davy Jones has his limits. This is the heart of the fairies' magic. It is incredibly powerful, even too powerful for you."

Killian stopped speaking for a moment, running through the possibilities in his mind. When he fell quiet, Emma felt a deep sadness settle over her, an overwhelming disappointment. But Emma herself felt… angry, confused, frustrated. None of the emotions that seemed to be overwhelming her felt like her own. It was as though some other part of her was feeling and thinking for itself, and the lack of Killian's voice triggered an enormous grief.

"Love, you still okay?" Killian called. That small, independent spark of magic that she knew was not her own gladdened instantly. When Killian's voice stopped, the happiness fled again, just as quickly.

"Killian," she called out. "Talk to me. Tell me a story. Recite a poem. Anything."

Killian stared straight ahead. He tried to think of something to tell her.

"Did I ever tell you about the time Liam tried to make cakes in an empty house that we found? The owners must have been away. I was… I don't know… maybe 6 or 7. There was a kitchen, lots of flour, eggs, milk. Liam took it into his head that he could make a cake for us. He said he'd seen Mum do it many times, and he let me help him. We'd never had a steady supply of food, and he showed me now to fry us up some eggs while he started on this cake…"

Killian's voice dipped up and down with the story, melodious and deep, and Emma felt the joy flood through her. The baby adored his voice. The baby loved him, even without any other sense of him.

"Queen Clarion!" Emma's voice boomed across the empty square. Killian stopped mid-sentence. "Bring the Queen here now!"

The whole of the fairy village seemed to awaken. The Saviour called out again and again, demanding that the Queen come out immediately. At last, when the entire population of Fairy Hollow was buzzing and whirring in the starlight, the Queen appeared.

"Do you feel that, Queen? Come here, close to me. Do you feel the grief?" The Queen drew closer to Emma.

"I feel it, Saviour, and I told you, I'm sorry that you're unhappy, but you will be better off…"

"No!" Emma shouted. "I'm not grieving, not yet. I'm angry. That sadness, that depression… that's not me. It's the baby. You have still its happiness and its laughter. What happens to fairies who cause babies to grieve?"

The Queen stiffened. All the many fairies sunk slowly to the grass and trees and flowers, listening through the silence. They could feel everything that Emma picked up from the baby.

"Killian," Emma called. "Carry on with your story."

Killian immediately began speaking again, in the same deep singsong that he always adopted when he was telling a tale. Happiness bubbled up again in Emma, and she couldn't help giggling. All of the fairies did the same. They laughed along with it.

"Let him go, Clarion. The baby loves its father already. He or she knows Killian's voice and his stories and his songs. Don't fairies survive on babies' laughs?"

Clarion sighed deeply. She dropped the bonds from Emma. Emma raced over to Killian and magicked his shackles away and hugged him close. The joy and laughter from within increased ten-fold as Killian murmured his thanks and love, and all of the fairies basked in it.

Clarion turned on her heal. "Leave the hollow. I don't want to see him again." Emma wasted no time. She pulled Killian along behind her, back down the path they'd arrived on. "Come on, let's find somewhere to sleep the night. We'll figure out how to get the information about Merlin in the morning."

"Tinkerbelle's house, love. You know it, so you can take us there." They disappeared and then reappeared in a white mist inside Tinkerbelle's dusty, abandoned treehouse. Exhausted, they collapsed onto the bed and snuggled together. "Go to my ship, love, and bring back a blanket from my quarters." Emma did so, and they lay together listening to the Neverland night once again, huddled under a blanket from the Jolly Roger and safe together.

"This kid's already saved your skin and he or she isn't even born!" Emma laughed.

"I didn't expect any less from the child of the Saviour," he smiled back. "Now go on, find us some pizza..."


	28. Chapter 28

Emma woke up in the middle of the night, unable to get back to sleep, and listened. On their last visit to Neverland, she had been so consumed with worry over Henry that she had found the environment nothing but hostile. Now, with the Lost Boys had been moved into suburban homes in Storybrooke and Pan defeated, their heartrending cries no longer overshadowed the background music of Neverland: a chorus of insects and the scurrying sounds of small animals, a gentle rain and a breeze that cooled the air in Tinkerbell's treehouse.

She had woken hungry – she seemed to want food every four hours or so now, no matter the time of day or circumstances. She carefully slipped out of Killian's grasp. He snorted adorably and rolled over, taking the blanket with him. Well, she supposed it was his blanket, and she smiled to herself to think that even the feared pirate captain was lulled to a deep sleep by a Pan-less Neverland. Emma tucked the blanket more securely around him. She picked up his jacket and pulled it around her against the night air, then crept down the ladder to the forest floor.

Fireflies darted and dove around Emma as she took in the forest. The moon shone brightly here, and she could see almost as well as on a heavily overcast winter's day in Storybrooke. The rain was light and only slightly cold, refreshing, she thought, after their trek and their near-fatal encounter with the fairies. Emma described her surroundings to the baby. She hadn't done this so much with Henry. She had been traumatised and frightened then. But now, she never felt alone, like she was always carrying a companion with her, someone to talk to. So she explained to the baby that she remembered a fruit, a yellowish oval one, quite small and utterly delicious.

"Your father is the expert on this place, but he's no good to us at the moment. We don't want to wake him, do we? He needs his sleep. I know it grew around here somewhere. He gave some to me, and we weren't far off Tinkerbell's place." Emma kept up the chatter, wandering in concentric circles around the treehouse, not straying far enough to lose her way. She was so enjoying the serene beauty of the night sky, bizarrely cloudless despite the rain, when a shrill little voice nearly made her jump out of her skin.

"Saviour!" An energetic light, several times bigger than the fireflies, appeared before her eyes. Emma felt in Hook's jacket for a blade. "Saviour, what are you doing up at night and alone?" The fairy swooped onto her shoulder and peered curiously into Emma's eyes. "Are you ill? Do you need help?"

Emma brushed the interfering little mite from her shoulder. "Help? You all were trying to execute my boyfriend just hours ago. No, I don't want your 'help'."

"I know," the little fairy hovered before her, shamefaced. "I don't think Clarion's reign will survive that. To think that she might have left that little baby fatherless." The fairy shook her golden head. "We're all so very, very sorry."

"Killian's told me plenty of times to stay away from fairies. Now I believe him."

"Please, Saviour, please let me help. What do you need? I can help!" the fairy pleased, her yellow curls blending into her petal-yellow dress.

Emma huffed in annoyance. "I'm hungry, that's all. And call me Emma rather than Saviour. I was looking for a fruit I remember. Yellow, not quite round, very sweet, almost like a grape but a bit more tart."

"Oh!" the little fairy zipped the left, then down a path. "Got it!" She flew back slowly, lugging two of the little fruits on a twig. "Is this it?"

Emma beamed at her. "Yeah, that's the one." She popped one in her mouth and chewed. "Yup, that's exactly the flavour I remember. Umm… thanks." Emma patted low on her abdomen, too embarrassed to talk to the baby with company about but still wanting to let it know that their late night quest had met with success.

The fairy fluttered her wings and stood before Emma in human form. "Let me get a few more for you." She disappeared around a bend in the path and came back with two handfuls of the fruit.

"Thanks again," Emma sighed, eating a few more. She decided to save some for Killian. "So are you allowed to be here, helping me?"

"Oh, yes, Clarion's the one in trouble."

Emma looked her over for signs of untruthfulness, but found nothing. "Thing is, we need some information. About Merlin."

"Merlin!" The fairy clapped her hand over her mouth when the name slipped out. "Oh, we don't like to say that name around here. He can hear," she whispered. "But he's not here, no," she added quickly, noticing Emma's concern. "If you need to hear about… Him… I can arrange for you to meet with an older fairy than me. She knows all there is to know about Him. Tomorrow morning? You could come to Fairy Hollow…"

Emma gave her a sharp look. "I don't think so. We're never setting foot there again. This fairy, and she alone with you, can come here tomorrow morning."

The yellow fairy assented easily. "Until tomorrow, then, Saviour Emma." She leaned down to touch Emma's belly. "Goodnight, little one." And with a tinkle like wind chimes, she buzzed away.

…

"So you woke in the middle of the night and wandered the forest alone? In the rain? And ate berries that some unknown fairy brought you?" Killian was growing more agitated by the minute. "And then you invited a couple of them back here for what… brunch?"

Emma reached up to grab his hands, pulling him back onto the bed with her. She reached over to a little table where she's left the rest of the berries and offered him some. "They're the same ones that you gave me last time we were here. Perfectly safe."

"Emma, that was reckless. You cannot take these risks with yourself," he scolded.

Emma drew herself up. "You mean don't take risks with the baby."

"Yes, clearly I mean don't take risks with the baby!" he raised his voice. "Becoming ill from the cold and damp, or eating the wrong thing, it could have tragic consequences."

Emma stared him down. "You think I'm irresponsible."

Killian saw exactly where this was headed. "Emma, you are the most responsible person I have ever met. You regularly shoulder the responsibility for whole towns and villages of people. But you are carrying another life in you and there is a damned good reason why it's referred to as a delicate condition."

"Uh-huh. So I'm responsible, but I'm a shitty mother."

Killian stomped over to her and gathered her into a surprisingly gentle hug. "I will not be dragged into the storm, love. You need to cede a bit of control and let me take care of certain things for you. If you are hungry in the night, please wake me before you wander into the forest alone, in the rain."

"I'm not helpless, Killian, and nothing bad happened. I wanted fruit; I got fruit. We wanted to talk to the fairies about Merlin; we're going to talk to fairies about Merlin."

"The possibility of something bad happening would have been avoided completely if you'd just let me take care of you." Killian explained, holding in his temper. "You and _my_ child. I want to make things as safe for you as possible, love. Both of you."

Emma knew that she was building up to a good explosion. The 'my child' comment alone could keep her yelling for days. But she stopped herself. He's not from my world, from my time, she reasoned to herself. He's possessive and overprotective, a trait he shares with David. But he is a good man, supportive and loving and not controlling, so should you really force an argument with a man who only wanted to be awakened to find you a midnight snack?

Emma felt very mature for having these thoughts. The mature thing to do, certainly, would be to explain calmly that she had enjoyed the moonlight stroll in the forest, babbling about nothing to the baby and exploring. So she did just that, though she was sobbing uncontrollably through the whole thing and had a suspicion she was unintelligible. She couldn't remember starting to cry. It startled her. Killian was whispering into her hair and apologising over and again.

So Emma hiccupped, and slumped her head onto Killian's chest, and waited for the hormonal overload to pass. She would explain it all. Later.

…

Killian still hated Neverland. He hated it less with the lost boys gone and Pan long dead, true enough. With Swan here, he could even appreciate the mind-altering beauty of the place; the outrageously bright colours; the damp air that felt like the dawn of time; the abundant, exotic fruit and mysterious flowers. He could remember first discovering the fairies, and what it felt like to lie under an emerald sky full of golden stars with one fairy or another, his hair and coat covered with the intoxicating scent of fairy dust. Clarion could rabbit on about 'violation' all she wanted, but Killian knew full well they had drugged him often enough to get what they wanted from him. The forest had numerous trees and plants that acted as aphrodisiacs, and he knew that the fairies had used every single one on him.

So, yes, he could remember years spent carousing through across the island like gods, he and his crew drunk on the sap of the Everbright tree or the pollen of dozens of species of potent poppies. The fairies had been numerous and willing. Not much of this did he intend to share with Emma. But mostly, he remembered Liam's death.

Killian hated Neverland.

Still, pregnant women needed regular and nutritious meals, so he found himself stoking a campfire the next morning in the clearing, cooking up a sort of Neverland soup for Emma. He had hushed and hugged and finally made love to Emma last night before he managed to stop the tears. He hoped that feeding her would head off more emotional outbursts. He didn't want to end up hanging from the tallest tree on the island for making the Saviour cry.

Emma scaled gracefully down from the treehouse and dropped almost noiselessly in the clearing near him. She immediately found a stick and poked into the stewpot.

"So what's for breakfast? Have you been out killing things and dragging them back to camp for your pregnant woman?" She flashed her eyes at him. "You've had sex. Made fire. Hunted. Are there any primal urges left to indulge?"

Killian grabbed her around the waist and hauled her close. He fixed his most unimpressed stare upon her. "It's vegetable stew. I lit the fire with a match I found stuffed in my pocket – I picked the matchbook up from that deli down the street from our place in New York. But if you want me to prove my virility, then I'll have you up against that rock right now. I can always knife some defenceless animal beforehand if it'll get you off."

Emma's eyes widened. She grinned. "Yes to the rock, no to the knifing. But I'd like some breakfast first."

He smiled back, kissed her full force and turned back to the fire. They had just dished up and sat down together - Emma on a log and Killian on the ground, leaning back against it – when the fairies arrived. Three of them fluttered elegantly into the clearing, settling down in the low branches of Tink's tree.

"At least make yourselves a reasonable size – I hate that feeling that I'm speaking to a dragonfly," Killian called to them.

The fairies transmogrified both because of and despite his impolite request, standing before Killian and Emma in their candy-coloured dresses of petals and leaves in orange and yellow and pink. They looked like a half-eaten pack of Skittles, Emma giggled to herself. The arranged themselves on the ground, but somehow levitating above the level of the dirt by millimetres. Emma felt clumsy and outsized and dirty in comparison. She shot a quick glance at Killian, briefly wondering if any of these three had figured in his long sexual history. He had maintained his casual pose against the log and was taking in the fairies with a cautious gaze.

"Saviour Emma…" the yellow fairy began nervously.

"It's just Emma. Or Ms Swan if you absolutely require an honorific," Killian corrected.

The yellow fairy flustered again, her little hands fluttering about her skirt and bodice as she tried to calm herself.

"Emma," she smiled, "this is Rose…" she gestured to the pink fairy, "and Gemmie…" another twitter of her fingers towards the orange fairy. "They know about Merlin, so maybe they can help you."

Emma smiled. She felt kindly towards the little yellow fairy, who she could not imagine ever having sex at all, much less with a pirate captain. The other two, well, Emma wasn't so sure. "Merlin created a portal in our town, Storybrooke, a few months ago. That portal dragged us to the Enchanted Forest. We have not been able to return to Storybrooke, even though we can travel easily between other realms. We have been told that Merlin has blocked our way back, but we don't know why or how we can break it. This only seems to apply to us and not to others from Storybrooke."

Rose and Gemmie looked at each other thoughtfully. "We've spoken with the fairies in the Enchanted Forest. They have been searching for Merlin and for answers. They have found him, and he is in the Enchanted Forest. He lives in a hidden castle, only visible to those he invites insides, about a day's walk from the place you first entered the Enchanted Forest through his portal."

Killian sighed. "Why didn't he just come after us, then? Too lazy to leave his castle?"

"Too trapped," Gemmie explained. "He can't leave, and that's why he involved the mad king of Camelot to chase you."

"Why would Merlin want us dead?" Emma asked in frustration. "I didn't even know he was real until the fairies in the Enchanted Forest suggested it."

Rose looked a bit worried now. "Because Emma is the reason he's trapped. The moment you found your power, the moment the clock began ticking in Storybrooke again, the castle locked tight around him and imprisoned him."

Killian sat back thoughtfully and looked at Emma. "Well, it wasn't a conscious decision on your part, clearly. Nothing you did or spell you cast."

Gemmie continued: "We think it was somehow built into the curse that created Storybrooke, or possibly into the loophole that created you as Saviour."

Emma took Killian's hand and squeezed. "It wouldn't be Regina. She would have said, if she knew."

"The Crocodile," Killian growled. "Again. It was his curse that Regina cast, she probably didn't know all of the possible side effects."

The fairies looked apologetic. "We have not been able to reach Merlin and we have no way to ask him what he intended by his association with Arthur. He may have meant to kill Emma, but we are honestly not sure."

"Killian, your father seemed to think that confronting Arthur would require a fight," Emma said. "Do you think he knows any more?"

"Honestly, love, I don't fancy drinking poison or any such rubbish in order to go ask him," he turned to the fairies. "Can Merlin harm Emma from within the castle?"

"Yes, probably vicariously. Working through pawns like Arthur would be simple enough, but he could also cast spells directly." Rose paused. "But he's not done so. Which makes me wonder. If Merlin had wanted Emma, he should have been able to cast a spell against her. Maybe he doesn't want to, or for some reason he cannot."

Killian leaned his head back against the log and spoke to the forest canopy. "So maybe he's a threat. Maybe he just really fancies a chat with my wife."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "You're really getting into this 'wife' thing, aren't you?"

He didn't move his head or glance her way, but did tug her a bit closer to his side as he thought through the contingencies. "Will I be able to enter Merlin's castle with Emma?"

Gemmie spoke up. "Not unless you are also invited, and I imagine you are not. But we can give you some fairy dust – it will get you in as long as you enter with someone who is invited. I assume that Emma is invited."

The yellow fairy stumbled forward with a vial of fairy dust and handed it to Emma. She leaned down and clutched Emma's hands. "Be strong and safe, Saviour," she whispered a bit too loud to conceal it from Killian. "Will you allow me to give the baby a gift?"

Emma was about to accept when Killian sat bolt upright and slid Emma across his lap and onto the other side of him, away from the little fairy. "No! You will stay well away from this child," he barked. Killian looked slightly abashed when he saw the tears welling up in the fairy's eyes. "I'd rather keep the baby from as much magical interference as possible, even with the best of intentions," he added, a bit more gently.

The fairies returned to their diminutive forms and called their good-byes from the treetops. The yellow fairy paused at the height of their ascent and gazed down. She smiled and sprinkled some dust over the two figures below her. "The baby will be safe, Hook," she called to him. "Safe from Merlin. He can't touch her now." And with that, she flitted off with Rose and Gemmie.

...

"We're outrageously bad party guests, Killian, you do realise that."

Emma was stretched out beside him on a bed of lush grass beneath a canopy of fragrant white flowers – plump and bold – with her fingers still trailing in the sparkling, gold and turquoise pond from which they had just emerged. She watched the beads of water slip down his naked chest and abdomen, each drop reflecting every shifting colour of the enhanced Neverland spectrum, much like a soap bubble in the sunlight. She followed one drop with her finger trailing in its wake down his hip and along his pubic bone, sliding into the grass along his upper thigh. She caught the twitch of his interest sparking.

"How do you figure, love?" he murmured, half-listening, half-asleep on his back in the shade of the flowering trees. The ground here was spongy and soft and covered in the silkiest moss and grass. Emma had wanted to go straight back after their talk with the fairies, but he had insisted that they make one last stop at his favourite place in all Neverland: this enchanted little glade and pond. The perfume of the flowers somehow imbued the water with their scent, and Emma and Killian were both soaked in the soporific, aphrodisiac water.

"We disappeared from a banquet being thrown in our honour, without a word to Oona or Mac or my parents. They'll be frantic." She was following another water droplet with her fingers, this one trickling even closer to the sight of his growing attention to her. His left hand, already loosely toying with the ends of her hair, tightened its grip a bit.

"Don't worry," he answered, raising himself up on one elbow above her, only to have her push him back down. "We'll return only seconds after we left, in their timeline. They won't have noticed we've been gone."

Emma followed the next drop with her nose, and when it fell into a small pool near the base of his arousal, she darted out her tongue to taste the golden water. Killian groaned and removed his right arm from over his eyes, readjusting it behind his head so that he could look down on her. Emma trailed her tongue along his length and giggled at his contented sigh.

"A few minutes of panicked searching will only keep them on their toes, I suppose," he said drily.

Emma lapped at him again, then took just the tip of him into her mouth and sucked lightly. A warm breeze blew across her wet skin, and she smoothed her hands across Killian's thighs, brushing away the remains of their swim. She continued to work him up, sucking and licking in every secret location of his pleasure. Killian's sighs became moans, and when they picked up a certain urgency, he wrapped her long hair around his fist and pulled gently to get her attention.

Emma raised her head long enough to look him in the eyes. "No, husband. You lie back and watch the Neverland sky for a bit. I'm going to make sure your last memory of this place is fucking amazing."

With that, Killian released her hair and stretched his left arm behind his head as well. As Emma swirled her tongue over him, drawing him inexorably towards his climax, Killian took in the flowers and water and purple-green twilight of his favourite part of his least favourite realm. By the time she closed her throat around him to swallow his seed, he was almost certain he was going to miss the place.

...

 **If anyone out there is still interested, please leave a review so I know whether to continue with this fic! Thanks!**


	29. Chapter 29

_**Thank you so very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. It can a bit like throwing words down a well sometimes, so thank you for letting me know you're out there and still interested. So of course I'll keep this going to the end! I appreciate each and every review, and I wrote this up quickly just to say thanks.**_

...

Killian strolled confidently back into the heart of the party, Emma's hand casually draped over his arm. They stopped for a hug and a laugh with one of Mac's distant cousins, who dashed off to fetch drinks and snacks. Emma sniggered when the drinks appeared and told them to stop treating her like royalty. Everyone stared at her, prompting Killian to lean in and quietly remind her that she was, indeed, royalty.

As if to prove the point, the crowd parted as the lumbering figure of David appeared through the doorway of the sitting room. He nearly ran up to Emma, pulling her out of Killian's arms and into a desperate hug.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "Snow and I were ready to call out a search party."

"Garden," Emma replied, taking a sip of her mint water. She looked blankly at him.

"The garden? We searched the whole thing, twice. What have you been doing?" Emma continued the blank, but meaningful, stare, and let her lack of answer draw out long enough for him to reach the logical answer. "Oh god, don't tell me, actually…" He shot a disapproving look at Killian. "She's a princess," David whispered angrily at the pirate.

"She's a lot of things," Killian nodded noncommittally. "I don't bother reminding her of every one or we'd never get out the door in the mornings."

"I'm his wife," Emma announced in happy whisper, directly into David's ear. "That's one of the things I am."

David turned red at that. "You're what?"

"The necklace," Emma tapped her fingers to it. "Apparently it's a bit more binding than your average bauble." She nodded conspiratorially at her father.

David's right hand tightened on his sword and he fixed his angry glare on Killian. "What?" Killian demanded. "One minute you're all worried that she's carrying a pirate's bastard, and now you're angry that I've married her. I suggest you and Snow have a wee talk amongst yourselves and decide upon a position." He patted David's sword arm. "Besides, the marriage is only valid in Neverland."

"Nope," Emma shook her head. "I still can't budge this clasp. It's valid here, too." She grinned. "Looks like the baby's going to be legitimate despite my best efforts."

David gaped at his daughter and her boyfriend/husband, eyes moving back and forth between their twin smirks. "What does a stuck clasp have to do with this?"

"It's not stuck," Emma explained. "Only my husband can open it."

Killian's cousin laughed out loud at this bit of news and clapped Killian – hard – on the back. Killian stumbled forward a step with the force. "Eh, col gaolta, what else can only you prise open on the wife?" he guffawed.

David went white, then red again. Killian shook his head. "A little respect, mo mhuintir, for the king's daughter," Killian said, with all the gravitas he could muster. "And for my wife, of course." Killian thought about it. "Even if we're not exactly married."

"Are you trying to deny me, husband? Mere hours after you wed me?" Emma looked shocked and upset. She raised her voice so that everyone in the sitting room, and quite a few outside of it, could hear her clearly. Oona appeared in the doorway now and rushed to Emma, pushing past David in the process and poking Killian hard in the chest.

"You best not have upset her! Killian! In her condition."

Emma launched herself into Oona's outstretched arms with full dramatic flair. She managed a few tears. Killian met her gaze over Oona's shoulder. He narrowed his eyes in warning. "Don't try it, Swan," he gritted through his teeth.

"Oona, he claims we're not married!" Emma sobbed onto Oona's shoulder. Oona looked confused and David even more so.

"Emma, you're not married," she said softly. "You didn't want to marry him. All the children saw him ask."

"He married me in Neverland. The necklace sealed our bond," Emma sniffled. Even Killian wondered for a moment if it was an act or hormones.

David perked up at this. "When were you in Neverland?"

"Just now," Emma gasped out, as though struggling for air through the tears. A crowd had gathered in the sitting room and outside the open windows in the square, watching the drama unfold. "The baby saved him from the fairies and now he won't admit that we're married!"

David, initially angry that Killian had somehow wed his daughter in secret, now flew into a rage that his son-in-law was backpedalling on the self-same marriage. Killian stepped forward to take Emma in his arms. They needed to talk. But Oona shoved at him with all her petite might, and David far more effectively dragged him away from Emma.

Will appeared at Killian's shoulder, along with Mac. "Mate, you need to calm this situation down. The crowd outside are solidly Team Emma. They're armed and getting a bit stabby."

Mac nodded urgently. "Make this stop, cousin."

"Emma…" Killian appealed, his voice quiet and level. "Your little charade is getting out of control."

Emma recognised that as his 'talk down the crazy woman' voice. She upped the ante, clinging more tightly to Oona. "He impregnated me! And now he won't even admit that we're married!" Emma wailed, straight into the crowd.

Killian could actually see torches being lit. Torches.

Mac shoved him in the back. "Get on your knees, col gaolta."

Will put both of his hands on Killian's shoulders and pushed downwards. "You bloody well apologise, and loudly, mate. Or we'll be cutting you down from a gallows in the square."

Killian sank to his knees before Emma, who was being supported by Oona as though she might faint at any moment. He caught the mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Emma, my True Love," he announced loud enough for the spectators in the square to hear, "when the fairies in Neverland married us, you made me the happiest man alive. I want everyone here to know that you are my wife."

Emma spun round in Oona's arms, her eyes shining, the necklace picking up every hint of torchlight from the square. "Oh Killy!" she cried happily, only a hint of sarcasm bleeding through, and she held her hands out to him and pulled him to his feet. The crowd cheered wildly. He stepped into her and snogged her well beyond the bounds of propriety to a great deal more cheering. When he pulled back from the kiss, he smiled and touched his forehead to hers.

"You will pay for this, Swan," he murmured, almost imperceptibly. "And 'Killy'? What the hell."

"Killian, we are now officially the best party guests ever. People will be talking about Oona and Mac's party for decades. It will be legendary." She gave him a chaste kiss, to another burst of applause and whistling. She nodded towards David, who now stood with his arm around Snow, both looking on approvingly. "You even made David happy."

"You just risked my neck to, what? Avoid walking down the aisle in a fluffy princess dress?" he retorted with a twist of vindictiveness. "Imagine that… you in white."

"Oh, fuck off, Mr 1000-as-a-conservative-estimate. My intention here was to repay Mac and Oona for their generosity and to get everyone off our backs. And to make David and Snow and the cast of thousands that is the Jones Clann very happy indeed." Emma shrugged.

Killian bent his head to hear and whispered, "But what if I want a wedding?"

Emma reached up to take his face in her hands. She ran her thumb along the line of his cheekbone and moved her gaze from his eyes to his lips and then back again. "I love you so much, Killian." She smiled and kissed him. "But you don't get it. I don't care the tiniest little molecule about marriage. I told you already, you are it for me. Forever. I love you completely. You know that for a fact. And this magic-fairy-dust marriage we blindly fell into, that's more than enough for me. You can call me wife if you like, and if it makes you happy, I'll refer to you as husband. Avoided even the need for a justice of the peace. Done. Dusted." She raised onto her tiptoes to kiss his stunned face again. "And you want a wedding? Please. You're getting a baby. Don't be greedy."

She released him and walked towards the kitchen, where she could make out Henry and Regina in the crowd. He watched her for a moment before following, calling after her, "Did you just tell a pirate not be greedy?"

…

Henry wrapped Emma in a comforting hug when she finally gained the kitchen. Every party guest within touching distance had grabbed her for kiss on the cheek and congratulations. Killian, at her back, found himself shoving away hands that threatened to touch her belly to bestow a blessing on the baby. When one particularly large and drunken man leaned over to do so, Killian smacked the offending hand away in anger and told all in shouting distance to keep their hands off his wife and child. His outburst cooled some of the crowd's congratulatory zeal, and Regina's hand reached out to pull Emma the rest of the way into the kitchen.

"So you married Hook, huh Mom?" Henry laughed.

Emma laughed, too, happy to be reunited with Henry and his guileless optimism. "Actually, it turns out that this necklace is the proposal and ceremony all wrapped in one sparkly package, according to the fairies in Neverland. You're not disappointed, are you?"

"No, I've gotten used to the mad way stuff happens in this family." Henry took a step back and considered the stones. "It's certainly… shiny. Elegant." He nodded his approval. "So that whole show was, well, just for show?"

Emma smiled. "Remember this, kid: sometimes you do stuff just to keep your parents happy."

Henry bounced on the balls of his feet like a much younger child. "Captain Hook's my Dad now," he snorted with laughter. "Excellent. Mom!" He whirled to Regina. "Marry Robin! Then I'll have Captain Hook and Robin Hood as Dads."

With a hug to both his mothers and an impromptu hug for Killian, Henry dashed off in search of his friends.

Regina went quiet and still. She slowly raised her eyes from Henry's wake to Killian, and then something in her expression softened. "Emma, I think the fearsome pirate captain might cry."

"Aye," Killian answer quietly. "I think he might."

…

Hours later, Mac and Oona's house resembled the first morning the Emma had seen it: members of Killian's family passed out drunk on sofas and tables and rugs, gate-crashers asleep in the parlour, and dozens of children curled up next to each other in the bedrooms, still clutching bits of cake and sweets in their unconscious hands.

The moon seemed dull compared to Neverland, but Oona had strung so many tiny lights in the garden that the place seemed magical in its own way. Mac had started a campfire in the middle of the garden and dragged furniture from the sitting rooms near it. So Snow and Charming, Mac and Oona, Will and Belle, Regina, Killian and Emma all wrapped up in woollen blankets and talked around the fire. Killian and Emma explained all that had happened in Neverland and what they knew of Merlin and his location.

"How far is that from here?" Belle asked.

"Marching?" Mac took a thoughtful sip of his whiskey. "Maybe six or seven days, and hard terrain."

"Better to take the Jolly Roger," Killian added. "We were pulled through the portal about a day's journey from the coast, and the road is easier there."

David and Mac started to calculate how many men they'd need for the fight. "If I were Merlin, I might have turned whole villages of people against us. He could have an army under mind control. We may not be able to just stroll up to the invisible castle door."

Emma sat quietly, eyes closed, listening to the drone of the men's voices and the occasional timbre of Killian's comments or questions rumbling through his chest, where she lay her head. Emma knew her own part: she was going in to face Merlin. She'd have Killian, certainly, but facing a magical creature meant she'd essentially be on her own. Killian was rubbing his thumb in unthinking circles over Emma's belly, and she dove deeper into preoccupation. She hoped that whatever the yellow fairy had done, it really would protect the baby. Her daughter, if the fairy's careless word could be believed.

She was shaken from her thoughts when Regina reached for Emma's hand. Regina kept hold of her hand, pulling her away from Killian. He glanced over as Emma slid across the sofa towards Regina's chair. "Emma," Regina said quietly, so quietly in fact that Emma had to scoot closer. "Let me go with you into Merlin's castle. I know that Killian thinks it is his place, but for you to face that wizard, you should have my magic, too. To defend you."

Emma looked back cautiously at Killian. He still had one hand over her ankle as she leaned over the arm of the sofa to speak to Regina. She whispered back to Regina: "That is not going to go over well."

"But you agree, don't you? You're worried. Emma, I can see that you are. So can he. He'll want what's safest for you, even if that's not him."

Emma sighed. "Yes, I agree. You facing Merlin with me makes more sense, I think. And my magic has been a little unpredictable with the pregnancy."

"It's not unpredictable, it's stronger. That baby's magic is bound up in yours."

Emma felt Killian's hand smoothing its way up her calf and then her thigh. "Love," he said, "did you hear your mother's question?"

Emma and Regina turned their attention back to the group. Everyone was looking at them, waiting for an answer to a question they hadn't heard.

"I said, we should leave in one week's time, if Emma is feeling well enough," Snow repeated. "Killian wanted you to rest before we ventured straight into another confrontation."

Emma opened her mouth to say that she was fine, that she didn't need anyone fussing over her, but David, Snow and Regina all quickly agreed that she should sleep and eat for a few days before attempting another long journey. Killian shot her a smug grin.

"Very well," Emma nodded. "I guess it will also take Mac time to find men to accompany us."

David, Mac and Snow said they would begin recruiting when the family sobered up tomorrow morning. Killian pulled Emma back into this arms as the conversation about provisions and arms resumed, and she went willingly. He rearranged the blanket over her feet and shoulders as she snuggled into his warmth. She may not have needed a wedding ceremony, but a few days of honeymoon might be nice.


	30. Chapter 30

Emma woke to the sound of shuffling. She stretched out an arm behind her and patted the cool sheets, sighing as she realised that Killian wasn't there. She'd been hoping for another snuggle. This week - which Emma still privately considered her honeymoon, Killian considered medical leave and everyone else thought of as battle preparation – was already nearly over. She didn't want to admit it, but Killian had been right about the food and sleep: the baby seemed to have grown in the last few days, her bump now a gentle swell, still noticeable only to someone really looking for it.

"Killian, stop rustling about and come to bed. It's a chilly morning; come warm me up."

"So is that what the pirate calls it – warming you up?" Emma startled at the unexpected sound of Regina's voice, and she found herself grabbing for Killian's dagger at the edge of the mattress. She had the knife in her hand before her brain registered that it was only Regina.

"Regina, god, did you have to scare me like that?" Emma peaked under the covers and realised that she was completely nude. "At least throw me shift or something. Why are you here? Where's Killian?"

"I'm trying to very quietly rifle through your stuff to find the storybook. Henry wanted to know if there was any mention of Merlin, and he said he'd lent it to you." Regina passed her a chemise and then sat down on the edge of the bed and patted her friend's leg good-naturedly. "I'm throwing open the windows, too. This room smells like sex!"

Emma fell back on the pillows, laughing. "Someone's missing Robin. I'm sorry, Regina," she added more seriously. "We'll get you back to him soon."

Regina sighed. "I miss him a lot more since coming in here and being _reminded_ of what I'm missing." Emma wriggled into the chemise and make sympathetic noises. "Hook's downstairs – he said he thought you'd sleep at least another hour, so I took a chance on finding the book. Want me to find you a dress?"

Emma stood gingerly on the thick rug next to the bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "No," she mumbled. "Look, can you just, magic me presentable?"

Regina laughed and passed her hand around Emma, fixing her hair into a neat up-do and her body into a dark green dress. "Come down to the kitchen with me. We're all supposed to make sure you get plenty of food and rest this week on the Captain's orders." Regina snorted. "Though god knows why the rest of us bother if he's just going to keep you up all night burning off the calories. And have you managed to tell him about me being your plus one to Merlin's castle?"

Emma sighed and reached for her friend. "Regina, I know this is cowardly, but…"

"But you want me to have it out with him."

Emma nodded weakly. "Would you? He's so worried at the moment. If I leave a spoonful of porridge in the bottom of my bowl at breakfast, he wants to know if I'm feeling all right. I can't imagine how he'll feel if I tell him he can't come with me to face Merlin."

Sweeping her regal gaze over her friend from head to toe, Regina delivered her blunt assessment: "He's right to worry. You're overworked. And much too thin for someone entering the second trimester of her second pregnancy." Emma spluttered to protest, but Regina cut her off. "That 'saviour' title is a curse worse than the one I thought I was casting. At least here, people don't think of you that way. In Storybrooke, every problem big or small is seen as your responsibility. Here, they think of you as a princess – and I suppose that's daunting, too. But Hook is taking care of you, and so are his whole family, and yours. Let him."

"Are you telling me to do as my husband says?"

Regina laughed out loud. "I suppose I am! Well, just this once."

…

Killian looked up from a map of the coast near Merlin's castle to see Emma following Regina into the kitchen. Her eyes looked magnificently green in the dress Regina had clearly created for her – it was more structured and formal than anything Emma might choose for herself. He grinned despite himself at the sight of her.

Emma still looked uncomfortably thin to Killian, muscular but very lean. He fed her healthy snacks at every opportunity and imagined that perhaps she had developed the start of some padding around her hips. In truth, though, he could still see every rib beneath her enhanced breasts and her hip bones were every bit as prominent. The dark circles beneath her eyes had disappeared with sleep these last few days, and she was starting to lift out of the somnolence of early pregnancy. He hated that incessant emergencies never allowed her time to rest. Even now, she was hiking miles upon miles every day, down to the harbour to help with preparing the Jolly Roger or around town gathering supplies and information. With the Jones and Charming families working together, the work was shared out rather than landing quite so heavily on Emma. He spent much of his days either batting problems away before they could reach her, or flat out insisting that others come up with solutions themselves and leave Emma the hell alone.

"Thanks for letting me sleep in, everyone," Emma crossed the room to Killian and gave him a quick kiss, then sat down at the table with Regina, Oona and her parents. "Don't bother with breakfast, I'll just grab some fruit and we can be on our way to the docks."

Killian's smile faltered, but before he could protest, Oona, Snow and David were all insisting that Emma eat a proper meal and not exhaust herself on the way to the docks.

"Emma, we've plenty of bread and jam, and I'll make you a couple of eggs," Oona began.

Henry had wandered in from his game of football to give Emma a hug good morning. "Everyone lay off my Mom. She made me just fine without any of you telling her what to do." The whole room silenced at that.

"True enough," Emma laughed. "And I think I did a pretty good job." She brushed Henry's hair back from his face and admired her handiwork. "Though I think your lovely manners are down to Regina."

"Probably," Henry agreed cheerily, giving Regina a hug as well.

Nevertheless, Oona slipped a plate of eggs and bread and jam in front of Emma alongside a mug of tea, and David sat down expectantly in front of her to watch her eat it. Killian ran his hands mindlessly over the maps, glancing surreptitiously as forkfuls of egg disappeared into her mouth. He smiled as Oona silently loaded up another slice of bread with butter and jam and slid in onto Emma's plate unnoticed. Emma's whole posture had relaxed, all the tension around her eyes gone, as she laughed at Henry's description of his football match in the square. Killian held his distance across the kitchen as she listened to their family gossip and tease and generally distract Emma from anything even vaguely serious.

"So," she asked through a mouthful of bread, deliberately baiting Killian, who grimaced, "what's up for today?"

David opened his mouth to explain the final preparations for tomorrow's departure, which included the last-minute training of the 40 men intended to hold the village nearest Merlin's cloaked castle. Will and Mac had taken charge of the men, and David assumed that Emma would want to meet them before they left. Before David could get in a word, Killian called out from across the kitchen.

"I've a task I need to undertake before we depart tomorrow, and I need your help, Swan. If that's not a problem, David?" Killian strode over and placed his hands lightly on Emma's shoulders. "Snow? Oona? I trust everyone else can handle the troops and the final loading onto the ship."

Emma licked the remains of the jam off her fingers, looking up at Killian as she did it, oblivious to the politics around her. This time her table manners didn't prompt even a hint of disapproval. "Finish your tea, love. I'll get some food and water to take along with us. It's quite a hike." He looked up to see Oona already stuffing bread, cheese and fruit into a muslin bag, and Snow wrapping up large portions of teacakes in waxed paper. Still unused to having family, Killian grinned to himself. It might take a large team to fatten Emma up a bit, but everyone appeared fully dedicated to the cause.

Emma glanced over at Regina and raised her eyebrows in question. Regina patted her hand and said good-naturedly, "Hook, may I speak with you briefly before you go?" She smiled as genuinely as possible to soften her words, trying not to make it sound like being called to an audience with the Evil Queen.

Killian didn't react, his face unreadable, but he made a sweeping gesture out the door of the kitchen towards Mac's study up the hallway. "Of course, Your Majesty" he said blankly, gave Emma a light kiss on her head and followed Regina out of the room. As soon as the door to the study shut behind them, Killian threw himself casually into a chair by the fire spread his legs in front of him. "What is it, Regina?" he demanded before she could even begin placating him. "I'm clearly not going to like it, whatever 'it' is, so out with it."

Regina sat in the chair opposite, posture erect as always, and relaxed into a blessedly straightforward argument. "Emma wants me to accompany her into Merlin's castle. As much as she wants you there with her, she can only take one person, and…"

"…and she wants someone there with magic to counteract Merlin's."

Regina only nodded her assent. Killian tilted his head back and trained his gaze to nothingness, considering the options. Finally he asked, "What is your opinion of her request?"

"I think that you calm Emma and focus her, and provide her with self-belief because you believe in her. There is also the true –love aspect of your relationship, which could prove vital. So I think that you going with her, rather than me, has its advantages. However, I suspect Merlin will believe that you are coming along, so I will provide an element of surprise. Also, of course, I do have magic that can complement and strengthen Emma's, and.."

Killian held up a hand to stop her and stood up abruptly. "Yes, I agree."

"I'm sorry… you agree?"

"Yes, if Emma feels she will be safest with you inside the castle, so be it."

Regina sat still, back straight, thinking how to respond. She had been prepared for an argument, or at least a lively debate, but immediate acceptance had not occurred to her. Killian was already reaching for the door, meeting over, deal done. Regina rushed forward to catch his hands in her.

"Killian, you must know that I would do anything to protect Emma, right?"

"It's not just Emma that needs protecting though. Emma carries my daughter inside of her, and I want them both back safe and well. And if the best way to keep them safe is to send you instead of me, then I won't stand in the way." Killian sighed and dropped his head. "Look, Regina, tomorrow I need to put Emma on my ship and sail the tiny family I've managed to cobble together – somehow, despite everything – into mortal danger. Again. So I'd like one godsdamned day in which I can just take her on a picnic and not stock weapons for a fight we might not win." He looked up again. "So are we done here?"

He pulled his hands away and walked out the door, a smirk plastered across the exhaustion and fear for Emma's sake. Regina wondered if Emma saw through it, too.

…

Emma couldn't stifle a giggle; now that she'd made the mental connection, she simply could not see things any other way. Killian scurried round his own horse to help her down from hers, and it recalled the way he'd rush round the back of taxis in New York to open her door for her. As if without him, she'd have been stuck inside the cab wondering how the hell to get out, for all the mystery of physics presented by the door handle. It had made her smile then, and here he was again, one hand holding hers and the other upstretched to catch her around the waist as she dismounted. She let him help her, descending in a graceful rustle of silk and cotton into his arms, even if it meant sliding off in a slightly odd, forward-facing position. Something about doing it seemed to make him feel better, and she was open to anything that involved his hands on her body.

A breeze tickled the leaves in the little glade high above the harbour where Killian had stopped. They had ridden off-road, through a secluded meadow and into virgin forest, for half an hour before dismounting in this stunning clearing, surrounded by flowering trees and covered in soft, forgiving grass and fallen leaves. The perfume of the bright flowers washed over them as Killian spread a thick blanket onto the ground at her feet.

"Do you think I didn't know that you were planning to skive off work for a picnic?" she laughed.

Killian didn't bother answering. He unpacked the food and drink from his horse while Emma scoped out the forest surrounding the glade. He watched her as she made the rounds, checking for vantage points and weaknesses, thinking like a general even though love not war was the day's plan. He knew the area to be absolutely safe: two of Mac's brothers and three cousins were patrolling the forest on horseback in rotation, staying clear but sticking close enough to ward off danger. Killian would take no chances with Emma and everyone was clear about that. Emma never thought of herself as a princess, but this was the Enchanted Forest, and her station commanded loyalty and respect beyond the immediate confines of family. Killian understood this and knew how to play it to her advantage, even if she had no idea it was happening.

"It's our honeymoon, right, love? Surely we deserve one picnic."

Emma meandered back through the trees towards the blanket. She sat down comfortably and looked up at him standing above her, shading her eyes against the sun. "We've never been on a picnic."

"We've never done anything that wasn't part of some mission or a response to a threat or an adventure brought on by a fall through a portal," Killian laughed hollowly. "We've managed a baby and a marriage – of sorts – all without intending to do any of it."

Emma leaned back so that she lay spread out on the blanket, both legs curled to the left and her arms splayed out to both sides, and continued to gaze up at him, eyes shaded. "Really, Killian? You mean to tell me that you didn't intend to get me pregnant? Because options may have been limited, but I knew what mine were, and I made a decision. I intended all of that."

He squinted back at her, but she could not read his expression with the sun behind him. "I wanted this, aye. I just didn't want to tell you that I wanted it."

"And now you can."

"And now I have."

She reached her hands up to him, and he stepped forward to take them. She pulled him down to her, and he placed his knees on either side of her hips, still holding her hands in his and balancing above her body. He seemed to relax into the moment, then, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her upper body up to meet his. Emma let him manoeuvre her, not resisting as he brought her up to his lips with one hand firmly on the back of her head. The move meant his muscles held taut all around her, and she let her hand run over his arms and shoulders. Killian had closed his eyes to explore her mouth, but Emma kept hers open, watching him as worked out what to do with her – to her – next. He slipped away from the kiss to use his teeth down her neck, tilting her head with the hand that still held her in place, fingers tangled in her hair. She didn't imagine this could be comfortable for him, biceps tense and burning as he held her off the ground, but he didn't seem to mind.

Killian worked his way down her neck and collarbone, causing Emma's skin to tingle from head to toe. She let her eyes fall closed, let him have control. He must have laid her out on the picnic blanket at some point, because when Emma became aware of her surroundings again, he had arranged her hair in a graceful fan around her head and unlaced the front of her dress. Killian still held himself over her, the top of his dark head descending to her breasts and settling over a nipple already peaked with excitement. He dragged her dress from her body without removing his mouth from her breasts, and Emma once again congratulated herself on having offered him his left hand that first night in the forest. Pinned beneath him, she could not do much to undress him, and she could feel his arousal through his trousers, set powerfully hard against her bare thigh. Emma breathed shallow and fast. She loved him, and she wanted him desperately badly, and it all coalesced into a breathless magical aura. His jacket came off with the barest twitch of her hand over the hem.

Killian lifted his tongue from her navel to sigh gratefully. The touch of her magic felt warm and light, and it caressed his skin as she peeled off his shirt, his belt, his boots and socks and trousers, slowly, each item folder and stacked with care and attention at the edge of the blanket, in deference to his habitual neatness.

He lowered himself still further – "Stop taking over, love" – and traced his thumb around her core in a wide arc, noting Emma's gasp and wriggle. He slowly brought it back to her sensitive, aching clit and she let out a little giggle of pleasure that sank into a deep exhale of contentment when he reached out to touch the tip of his tongue just above her centre. Killian licked and sucked her into a haze of pleasure, his hands roaming over her hips, her belly and breasts. Emma absorbed his attention and touch, watching the branches above her ripple in the breeze while he stroked her with his tongue and his fingers.

"Please, Killian, I want you inside of me," she finally whispered.

He smiled, raising his head from between her thighs. He slipped both hands under her arse and sat up to gaze at her spread across the blanket. After a few moments of hesitation, he seemed to make a decision. "Turn over, love, and get on your hands and knees."

Emma moved languidly, positioning herself in front of him where he waited for her on his knees. The ground was soft and yielding beneath her knees, and Killian gently pressed her shoulders to the blanket. He leaned over her body, kissing a trail from the top of her spine to the small of her back. He murmured his love for her all the way. When he reached the hollow at the base of her spine, he moved his hands to her hips, pulling her up and back to him. He brushed her hair out of her face and swept it over the opposite shoulder. "I want to see your face when I enter you," he whispered to her. He rubbed his fingers in circles over her clit, dipping into her core to pick up moisture, then returning to spark her arousal further. Emma wanted him so badly that she tried to press her arse into him, but she couldn't move with his grip on her hips.

"Don't worry, love," he said. "I'm going to give you what you want."

She couldn't thrust herself against him at this angle, so he used the strength in his arms to do it for her. With each thrust into her, Killian pulled her back against his body. He went deep and stayed deep, and Emma could feel her orgasm building within her with each shallow thrust, coaxing her completion from her willing body. Killian looked from her face – eyes closed, mouth open and wide with arousal – to where he could watch his cock sliding in and out of her, her lips beautifully stretched around his girth. In the warm air and soft earth he drew out their joining, letting Emma take her time to reach her heights.

The noises that Emma made rose it pitch and intensity, and Killian pulled out a bit more, slammed in a bit harder. She mumbled his name over and over, told him to keep going right there, and he fought his desire to take her harder still. He could feel her tightening around him, until she released a long, high-pitched cry, and he allowed her some freedom of movement to swing her hips back and prolong the ecstasy. When her cries began to quiet and her body relax, he let himself pull out almost all the way and thrust in to the hilt, all his weight and energy reduced to dragging himself along her wet walls as hard and as deep as he could. In the time it took him to build to a climax himself, Emma opened her body wider for him, letting him take his pleasure in her warm, sated centre. When he finally began to pulse his release into her, Emma whispered her praise and love back at him.

They sank onto the blanket together, Killian sliding over to face her pull her close. He kissed her relentlessly. Emma recognised the familiar feel, the way Killian made love to her when he was frightened for her life. She thought about how messed up that was, that her husband had certain sexual tells when they were about to go up against demons or wizards or monsters or mad kings. She hated doing this to him, and to herself, again and again.

"Are we ever going to get past this, Killian?" she asked between kisses. "Get to a time when we don't have to march into some sort of battle? I always feel one sword-fight from losing you forever."

Killian had no answer to that, so he skimmed his hand and lips down to her belly instead, and whispered to the baby in a language that Emma neither recognised nor spoke. Emma brushed her fingers through his hair and stroked his neck, eyes closed and listening to his voice, uncomprehending, soothed just as much as the baby was by his steady cadence. "What are you saying?"

He tickled his fingers over her lower abdomen. "I'm telling our daughter that no matter what happens to me, she will be loved and cared for because unlike you and me, she has a whole family to care for her. She will never be alone." He looked up at Emma with a lazy smile, and she felt that her heart might stop. "Someone will always love her, even if we are separated from her. Our family can cross realms, use magic, make connections… I truly have no doubt that someone would find her, no matter what."

Emma nodded, tears gathering in her eyes. "You're right. But Killian, please tell me if won't come to that."

"It won't come to that. We are stronger than Merlin, and we will win."

Emma sat up, leaning back on one hand. She kept stroking the other hand through his hair as his head rested in her lap, and his eyes closed.

"You look so relaxed that I hate to ask," Emma began, "but is there any food on this picnic?"

Killian snorted out a laugh and picked himself up off the ground. He pulled on some trousers and leaned down to kiss her again. "Anything for the two of you," he answered with a grin, and went back to the horses to unpack the food. Emma lay back down on the blanket, warm and naked and comfortable, and thought that perhaps this had been the best possible honeymoon after all.


	31. Chapter 31

_**Well I don't know about you, but I've had a glorious summer hiatus. Sorry for the delay, but at long last, we're back. Thank you once again to all who have favourited and followed and especially left reviews. You are wonderful.**_

Emma loved to watch Killian sailing. She was stretched out against the balustrade mid-ship, soaking up some sunshine and watching him at the helm. He was, for once, paying her no attention whatsoever, intent instead on the course, shouting the occasional order and watching the makeshift crew carefully to see if it was followed up. The leather pirate garb had disappeared before they fell through the portal and it had never reappeared, and now in dark cotton trousers and a blue linen shirt in the warm sun, he looked like an off-duty naval commander rather than a dreaded pirate captain. This crew, of course, was largely made up of his close friends and family members, with several women on board – Belle, Regina, Snow and Emma – so he had no need to shock his crew into obedience with unexpected violence. He looked both authoritative and relaxed, completely at home.

Emma's heart gave a little start at that. If home was the place you missed, then Killian surely missed the Jolly Roger when he wasn't on it. Emma missed it, too, because on the ship she felt at home with him. They had slept aboard for only one night on this journey, but curled up under his blankets, in his bunk, in his quarters, she felt perfectly safe and happy.

All she had been doing since she arrived in the Enchanted Forest months ago was struggle to get back to Storybrooke. But Emma knew that she needed to ask herself if Storybrooke was a reasonable long-term goal as a home. Her own parents had long wanted to return to their kingdom, and Killian now had enough family members to crew the Jolly Roger and lay siege to a town, if necessary. She might get back to Storybrooke, but was there any point in staying? She patted her belly and silently promised her baby that she and Killian would find her a home, wherever it may be.

The Jolly Roger sped almost over the tops of the waves, cutting through the water so efficiently that a mug of tea set on a shelf would still be full an hour after being set down. Emma knew this for a fact, as she disappeared below deck and picked up her forgotten cup of mint tea from the desk in Killian's quarters. Not a drop had escaped. She ran her hands over the desk, thinking about the decades that Killian had commanded this ship, the countless hours he must have spent here mapping, negotiating, threatening, researching, writing and... possibly screwing other women? She shook her head to clear the thought. Pointless to dwell on that, she chided herself. He had been as open and honest with her as she wanted him to be. She gave the desk an affectionate pat and was about to turn around when she felt familiar hands press against the backs of her thighs and slide sensually up over her arse.

"Did you know that I fantasise about taking you on my desk?" he whispered against her ear, drawing her dress higher up her legs. His hands roamed up and down her thighs before catching hold of her knickers and lowering them to the floor. She stepped out of them and looked back over her shoulder as he knelt down to stroke the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

"Spread your legs a bit more for me, love," he ordered softly. Emma sighed contentedly and gave herself up to this. She leaned over the desk, propping her head on her folded arms. From seemingly nowhere, he produced a rolled-up blanket, which he slipped between her hip bones and the table. "To protect the baby," he explained softly. Killian played his fingers in all the right places, and when he had her as wet as he wanted her, she felt him stand up behind her. She felt his knuckles brush against her exposed arse and heard the low-pitched jangle of his heavy belt buckle being pulled free.

He reached across her back and found her hands on the desk. He kissed the backs of her hands, then the palms. "Emma, give me your wrists." She placed them in front of her. He wound his thick leather belt around her wrists, then nudged her bound hands to the opposite edge of the desk. Emma knew to hold on without being told. He kissed her shoulder in approval and nuzzled his face lovingly into her loose hair. He used both hands to spread her sex wide open for him, and Emma could feel every callous on his fingers as her massaged her roughly. She sighed and hummed and began to pant as he teased his cock at her entrance. She tensed slightly, knowing that from this angle there would be an initial burning stretch if he took her a bit hard.

"I have dreamt of this. If you had stayed, that night in the past, when I brought you back from the tavern... well, this is why I punched my past self. I knew he was steering you to this desk. I knew he'd try to tie you up. Would you have let him, Emma?"

Emma shook her head, still holding her breath in anticipation. "You told me not to trust him. I wouldn't have trusted him."

"Are you sure? I would have been very persuasive. You might have spread your legs like this for him." His cock was still rubbing against her clit, making Emma unconsciously spread her legs a bit wider for him.

"No," Emma sighed. "I wouldn't have been so vulnerable with him." Emma puffed out a breath across a knot in the wood. How many women had been laid out on this desk for him, how many had noticed that little reddish knot in the grain, their faces pressed to the wood?

"I'm not sure I believe you, Emma," he said, something a bit dark in his throaty whisper. "You're so wet. Do you want me?"

Even in her lust-induced haze, Emma clocked that this was a ridiculous question, given her current position. But she only breathed out the word yes, and she felt Killian kiss her shoulders before straightening behind her, his hands gripping her hips.

He thrust in hard. She cried out, just as he intended. Moving one hand on her clit and the other gripping her arse, Killian pushed in and out of her, roughly but not too hard. She could tell he was holding back, treating her carefully, caressing all the right places inside. Her bound hands couldn't get a purchase on the edge of the desk, so she clawed her nails across the polished wood. Over and again he thrust in and out, seconds and minutes blending together as the thick drag of his cock made her desperate. He was talking – filthy, wonderful compliments about her body; she caught some intriguing references to her ass to file away for later – and she felt herself winding up tighter and tighter, closer and closer. She must have been making sounds – he was whispering to her nonstop, telling her not to hold back – because finally he rubbed one hand up her body, gripping her breast and the back of her neck, then gripping her jaw. He roughly plugged two fingers into her mouth, and she instinctively stopped moaning and sucked. His other hand was between her legs, dipping down to gather her moisture from his cock as he pulled back. She could feel his fingers exploring the way she stretched around him. Then he brought his wet fingers back to her clit.

Emma exploded, choking his name out around the fingers still thrust in her mouth. As the last spasms of her orgasm faded, he pulled her hips away from the edge of the desk and brought both hands around to rub her taut, emerging bump. He continued to fuck her at a fast pace and she squeezed her muscles to stimulate him further. He groaned and started up a rhythm that she recognised as being solely for his pleasure. He came holding her belly with surprising gentleness, considering how hard his cock had been slamming into her from behind. He almost stilled inside her, thrusting gently and twitching as the last of his seed shot into her.

Killian's sweaty head rested against her back. "I love you both," he murmured, kissing her shoulder, refusing to withdraw. He held her there, both breathing hard, until he heard the men shouting above deck. They had spotted the port.

…

Killian knew this type of port town well. He'd never docked in this particular circle of hell before, but he could smell the whorehouses and cheap whiskey from the helm. The weather-torn waterfront stank of rot and unwashed, unemployed men. In days past, Hook would have swaggered down the gangway, killed a couple of local thugs to establish respect and taken over a local tavern to reward his men. He glanced at his current crew - two queens, one king, one librarian/princess, dozens of Jones family fishermen and his own pregnant wife - and realised that he was going to need a new career. Hook had nothing to lose, but Killian worried that his 13-year-old stepson would be propositioned by a desperate, diseased whore the minute he stepped off the ship.

He tucked Emma closer to his side as he steered into an opening; in her old job, she may have chased down scum in alleyways in the wrong parts of major cities, and Killian respected that. It didn't change the fact that he had no plans to let Emma anywhere near the shifting vermin he saw loitering at the harbour until he had the place under control.

Killian jumped up onto the gangway as soon as Mac and Will had the Jolly tied fast, and he stood tall and straight, surveying the port as though he owned it. Which he intended to. They needed to secure this hellhole as their entrance and exit, then gather intelligence on Merlin and his hold over the local area.

Noting every armed man for 50m in every direction, he began his swagger down to the dock. Then he felt someone tugging at his jacket sleeve.

"Umm, Captain, aren't you forgetting someone?" Emma deadpanned, taking hold of the arm he hadn't offered her.

Killian heaved a sigh and looked Emma up and down. Her gold hair shimmered in the sunshine and her purple dress was almost iridescent, and all that came in well behind the blindingly precious necklace; she looked like a goddess. He felt the townspeople shifting and gossiping and trying to figure out ways to take advantage of this unusual situation. He wondered how many of them at this outpost would recognise her, but then her parents were on board, and once the townspeople saw Snow and David, knew royalty had pulled into port … Killian knew his princess needed protecting, even if she had no bloody clue.

"You wouldn't consider staying on board and out of sight for a bit, would you, love? Just while I secure the port? The town beyond will no doubt hear out David and Snow, out of respect, but the rats on this dock have no loyalties. You look too tempting a mark to pass up."

"I'm nobody's mark, Killian," she scoffed. She tapped the sword at her hip. "I can take care of myself."

She had barely finished speaking when one of the thieves in the gathering crowd lunged for her, blade flashing toward her throat. Emma sparked up her magic in defence, but Killian was already pulling his sword out of the man's neck and kicking the body into the dim water beneath the dock. An arc of the man's blood spurted across a few in the crowd, drawing gasps and rancorous murmurs.

Furious, Killian aimed his bloody sword at the neck of the next closest ruffian and echoed his command through the momentary silence: "No one touches my wife. No one even approaches her. I will bleed this goddamn port dry if necessary." He looked directly into the eyes of the man standing beneath his blade. "Am I understood?"

Apparently he was not understood. When the next man threw himself at Emma, wielding a rusty length of heavy chain, she was ready, flinging him backwards onto the dock with a wave of her hand. Killian jumped off the gangplank, stalked through the stunned onlookers and stabbed his sword inelegantly into the man's heart. At this the rabble stilled.

He kicked the body so that it rolled into the crowd. "This port is mine now. I have taken it for Queen Snow and King David. Is anyone else having trouble understanding?" He stalked up and down in front of the onlookers, watching for any further sign of trouble. Emma heard footsteps on the gangplank behind her, and turned to see David, Henry and Mac with their swords drawn. She raised a curious eyebrow at Henry, but he only tightened his death grip on that sword and took a step forward, edging her to one side.

"Henry, get back on the ship, please," she warned him.

"No way. Hook told me to protect you. YOU get back on the ship, then I will," he countered.

Very clever, Killian, she thought. And he's Hook again, obviously he's Hook again, he currently had the point of his sword pointed at a man's throat while the man in question was laid flat out on his back on the docks, his chest beneath Killian's boot. Emma stomped back onto the Jolly in a temper, Henry following in reverse, his sword and eyes still pointed to the crowd on the docks.

Mac gestured to his men on board, and they swarmed onto the dock. Killian ordered the crowd separated, questioned and searched for arms. Once a mountainous stack of pistols, knives, swords and axes had accumulated and had been stored in the ship's hold, their group split into teams to interrogate the whores, pirates, murderers and thieves who lived there. The questioning continued late into the night, when Emma and Snow slumped down at a table in the cold, stone warehouse that Killian and David had established as their temporary headquarters. Belle had lit candles around the cramped office space at the back of the warehouse, and the three women were trying to consolidate all of the information gathered through the interrogations.

"Very few have seen any sign of Merlin or his magic, or not for a long while," Belle began. "I don't see many references to any strange happenings, not for years now. A few of the younger people seemed not to know who he was at all."

Emma shook her head. "No one seemed to fear him, that's for sure. I must have talked to 30 extremely smelly men today, and not one seemed scared."

"Same," shrugged Snow. "A few people could recite legends of Merlin's power, but no one had seen any evidence of it. They know all about the hidden castle, and they know he's there, they just don't care."

Killian, David, Henry and Mac trudged into the warehouse, covered in blood and dirt and sweat. Snow wrinkled her nose. "There are barrels of clean water in the corner," she called to them, pointing. "We found a well. At least scrub off the blood before you come in here." The men stripped off their jackets and shirts and washed themselves down without a word, too exhausted to argue. They sank into chairs in the office space, glassy-eyed. Killian flopped onto a bedroll left on the floor of the office and propped himself against the wall. A table against the far wall was piled with warm food, brought in by a friendly tavern owner in the town beyond the docks who was happy to see someone cleaning up the lawless seafront. Emma piled a plate for Henry, who began eating with the speed and enthusiasm that only teenagers seem able to muster. She handed another to Killian, then sat down close to him on the floor.

Before taking a bite, he leaned into her and quietly asked if she had already eaten. Emma shot him a funny look. "Yes, Killian, I've eaten. Plenty. Everyone has eaten except the four of you. Will even came in earlier for a meal, before he went back to guard the Jolly with Regina and some of your relatives."

Killian simply began eating, content knowing he wasn't taking food that she needed. He chewed thoughtfully and looked longingly at her lap. If only everyone else would clear away, he could lay his head down on that silky dress, and maybe she'd stroke her fingers though his hair in that way that always made him want to purr like goddamn cat. He reminisced for a moment about what he would have down after taking a port town like this with his crew. Found a tavern and a willing barmaid, no doubt, and hoped she'd bring him some small comfort, or at least release. There had certainly never been any cuddling, and sure as hell no purring.

Emma's hand was already on the back of his neck, thoughtlessly dissolving the tension as she discussed sleeping arrangements with Belle. Killian's eyes closed and their discussion faded to white noise; he dimly heard people moving out of the office and unrolling bedding around the warehouse.

The door to the office scraped closed with dull clunk, and he felt Emma's lips moving softly across his forehead, down to this ear. "It's okay, Captain, they're all gone," she whispered. "You can put your head in my lap." Killian sighed deeply and shifted himself to lay across her legs, his face to her belly, so that he could mumble sleepily to the baby, "Your Ma is the best." Emma pulled a blanket up over his bare shoulders, then ran her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep.

But Emma sat up, wide awake, long after. Merlin was still out there, trapped but still powerful. Tomorrow she would find him.


	32. Chapter 32

With the docks secured and the town sympathetic to David and Snow, Killian felt confident that they were in a good position to push on towards the location of Merlin's castle. Emma had requested that only a small group go forward to the outskirts of the castle, leaving the others to hold the town and the docks. In the end, Killian, Snow, David, Regina, Henry and Mac saddled up on horses lent by the townspeople, thrilled to see their king, queen and crown princess after so many years.

Emma had hated horses before – they only seemed to need them in emergencies, and her association with them was not the best – and now pregnant and three miles into the trek, she missed her Yellow Bug even more. Maybe if they all moved back here, they could bring along the technology for motorised transport? Her horse snorted and veered off course, towards a particularly juicy clump of grass near a copse of trees. David snorted more loudly than the horse, in derision, and trotted over to her, taking the reins and leading her back onto the path. Killian doubled back from the head of the party pulled up alongside Emma. He could see that she was beginning to sniffle and her eyes were looking watery.

"He keeps leaving the path," Emma wavered. "I don't think he likes the other horses. I know I don't like him."

David gripped his sword in frustration and gritted his teeth. "Your horse is a mare, Emma. A _girl_. And she's wobbling like a loose tooth because you're not holding the reins correctly. You have to keep her on the path. I cannot believe that any daughter of mine…"

"David," Killian cut in sharply. "I'll ride back here with Emma. Why don't you take the lead." Killian watched tears start to slip down Emma's cheeks. "Just lead on. We'll catch you up."

David let out another disgusted huff and spurred his horse forward. Killian immediately dismounted and walked around to Emma's mare, holding her steady by the nose. He lifted his other hand up to Emma and signalled for her to come down. She slid off in a heap, more falling onto Killian than sliding into his arms, but when he had her securely on the ground, he gathered her up for a hug.

"I can't do this! I can't ride and David thinks I'm the world's biggest disappointment," she sobbed. "He's ashamed of me."

Killian stroked her hair and back and let her cry it out for a few minutes. There was no use arguing with upset, hormonal Emma. She would come around to reason when she'd had a chance to calm down. So when the sobbing dissolved into hiccups, Killian spoke up: "David's acting like an arse. But he's not disappointed in you; he's disappointed in himself. It's guilt, Emma. He feels guilty that he never had a chance to teach you these things. And he's lashing out at his own daughter, his own pregnant daughter at that, which is extremely poor form." He produced a handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped up Emma's tears. "You're doing absolutely fine, far better than my first lesson with a car." Emma giggled at the memory of that, how he's nearly pulled the gear stick out of the floor of the Bug in fright.

"Yeah, I suppose I am. I mean, god knows I never got riding lessons growing up in foster homes. I'm doing my best." Killian nodded and held her closer. He slipped her horse's reins over its head, and led the mare over to his horse. He helped to lift Emma onto his horse, then swung up behind her, tying off the mares' reins to a rope at the back of his saddle. She seemed content there.

"Now, I can take better care of you," Killian smiled against her neck, nibbling along her ear. He let his hands sweep up her body and settle around her breasts. "Yes, I like this arrangement much better."

Emma laughed, one of those laughs that is really more relief at not crying anymore. She let herself settle back into Killian's chest, enjoying the way his arms circled her to hold the reins. "I'm not going to have any incentive to learn to ride if you keep this up." With the warm sun, the gentle sway of the ride and Killian's solid chest to lean against, Emma soon felt herself slipping in and out of her dreams.

Killian kept one hand on the reins and the other wrapped around her torso, holding her upright and letting her sleep. His jaw tensed along with his back, taking her weight, his mind unable to stop thinking about where they were headed. David would apologise; the man truly loved his daughter and the guilt of his words was probably eating a whole through his heart. But David didn't much concern Killian.

He wanted to pull the horse to one side and gallop back to the Jolly Roger, then sail as far and as fast as he could away from Merlin's castle. But he kept up the relentless forward motion, wondering why he seemed unable to step off this path of heroism now that he was on it. Mostly, he knew, it was because he was following her, and his entire life now revolved around being wherever Emma was. Family supported them, true enough, but it also trapped them.

…

Emma slept on until they reached the village nearest the castle. A quiet, shifty-eyed village; a village harbouring secrets. Killian could sense the perfidy from his first glance at the neatly swept porches and lovingly thatched roofs; he wondered what Emma's lie detector would make of the place. It wasn't overtly hostile, like the port. This village looked warm, welcoming and carefully ordered. After decades upon decades of the enchanting lie of Neverland, Killian could spot danger behind pleasant exteriors, and this village felt like a particularly nasty trap, with every villager looking to protect a secret they would rather die than tell.

Emma yawned and stretched out her arms, arching her back against Killian and nearly falling out of the saddle. She awoke sharply at that, suddenly remembering her surroundings.

"Oh, god, babe. I'm sorry. I guess I fell asleep," she muttered.

"Swan, you have been snoring on and off for hours now. Trust me, I noticed that you were asleep."

Emma shot him a mock-offended look. "I am carrying your child. I wouldn't think you'd begrudge carrying me for a few hours."

Killian secured his arm around her hips and tugged her back sharply against his erection. "As you can feel, Swan, three hours of staring down your dress and running my hands across your breasts has left me feeling quite well-disposed towards you. You may fall asleep against me anytime."

Emma twisted in the saddle to kiss him. "Let me off this damned horse, Killian."

He swung down first, pulling her immediately into his arms, bridal-style. "Tell me you can do this, love," he whispered, suddenly serious. "I can still get us away from here. We can find another way."

Emma ran her hand over his chest and up to his face, scratching her nails lightly through his scruff, holding his gaze on her. "I have to clear our way. We have to. We can't live a life where this wizard can come after us, whenever he likes. Come after our children." Killian dropped his head and nodded into her hair, and he set her feet on the ground.

"Aye," he said, the moment over and his fears shoved neatly back beneath a façade. "I will secure this town for you. This place… it feels wrong. Too quiet, too ordered. Fearful. I feel certain they are under Merlin's control, but interesting that it doesn't extend beyond this town."

Emma considered this. "Perhaps it doesn't need to. If Merlin is truly trapped, someone must be keeping him alive. And look at this place – clean, neat, well-stocked, clearly wealthy. Every other town has been, typically, more chaotic. Normal." She hugged him to her. "Please be careful. I don't know which of us has the more dangerous task. I don't trust this place at all."

"You both come back to me," he whispered, "and I will come back to you."

Killian marched over towards the others, Emma's hand in his, until she spotted Regina and veered over to see if her friend was ready to find the castle.

While Will and Mac looked for a mayor or official to speak to, and most of the men fanned out to scope out the town on Killian's orders, Killian, David, Emma, Regina, Snow and Belle walked to the far end of town. There, from a low hill, they had an uninterrupted view of a vast grassland, devoid of trees, that stretched to the horizon. Straight in front of her, Emma caught a shimmering, a shifting in the gently swaying, empty landscape. She drew a breath and grabbed Regina's arm. "Do you see it?"

Regina squinted into the distance. "I see… grass. And more grass."

Emma pointed dead ahead. "It's right there." She exhaled shakily. "It looks… god, much worse than Camelot. I can't see any doors, any windows." She shook her head. "Not a castle, it's a fortress."

"Describe it to us, Emma," David said. "We can't see it, but if you sketch it for us, we'll have an idea how to find its vulnerabilities. There must be a way in, other than magic."

Emma reached for Killian. "I have a better idea," she smiled. "Remember how we could see each other's visions in the villa?"

"Of course, love."

"Hold my hands, and concentrate on me, on how I must see things," she grinned at him. "Just like you always do." Killian took her hands, felt their magic pass between them and he tried to look through Emma's eyes at the prairie. And there it was.

"An outer wall, four metres high, solid granite," he described, as David listened. "A moat 3 metres across immediately behind it. No gates that I can see, no towers. The fortress – all stone, no windows visible and no doors – 10 metres inside the moat. Maybe 10 metres high. It's like a solid box of stone."

David and Snow looked on in horror. "Emma, you can't go in there," Snow challenged.

Regina took Emma's hand out of Killian's. "We have to. Captain, you know where it is and what we're facing. This town is under Merlin's enchantment, I can feel it. You need to secure these townsfolk." Regina looked back to Emma. "Let's go."

Emma stepped back from him, and linked her arm into Regina's. She held Killian's blue gaze as she called out across the prairie, "Merlin, I'm here."

In a hazy silver shimmer, Emma and Regina faded away from the hillside, her eyes on Killian's until the moment she disappeared completely.

…

The inside of Merlin's castle looked nothing as Emma had expected from the Spartan exterior. High, clear widows – invisible from the exterior - flooded sunshine into a sitting room, furnished with Oriental rugs over dark wooden floorboards. Two deep red sofas, soft and inviting, faced each other across an ornate, low table. The room was peaceful, filled with vases of exotic flowers in brilliant yellows and oranges and crimsons.

On one of the sofas sat a young man with unfocussed, chocolate eyes and black hair. His flowing, black robe spilled across the cushions and covered him to his feet. Emma could almost see his haunting eyes twist and focus like the lens of a camera as he took in the sight of Regina.

"Oh well, this is unexpected. The Evil Queen? An interesting choice of companion. I had rather expected the pirate captain." He waved a hand a tray appeared on the table, covered with a teapot and cups and cakes. "Never mind. I have waited so long for you, Emma. Please, do help yourself."

Regina did as she always did: she walked in as though she owned the room, sweeping into a seat with imperial indifference. "Why are we here, Merlin? You have spent months now trying to destroy Emma's life. What the hell could you possibly want from her?"

Merlin looked affronted. "Destroy her? No, not me. You'll forgive me. As I have lost the use of my powers beyond these castle walls, I can work only by proxy. Arthur's desires aligned with mine to an extent: he wanted Killian and Emma here in the Enchanted Forest, and so did I. I had to draw you out Storybrooke and then keep you near. I gave Arthur the spell and he cast it for me. But then, he went his own nefarious way. It can be terribly difficult to find a good proxy." He waved a hand dismissively. "What does it matter? He's dead, and no more threat to you."

Regina snapped her fingers impatiently at him. "Stop grandstanding. Why did you bring Emma here? If you could send someone to cast spells for you, why have you let her run around Camelot and New York and the Enchanted Forest all this time?"

Merlin stretched out his robed arms over the sofa. "For love. For love!"

Both Emma and Regina looked incredulous. "What?" Emma finally vocalised.

Merlin shifted his gaze to Emma. He swept his eyes over her whole form, cataloguing the baby, her implacable expression and the sword that Killian had strapped to her waist. "I couldn't very well bring you here straight from the portal – you hadn't yet admitted that you love him. Love takes time and patience. But now…" he swept his hand through the air at Emma – "pregnant, wed, besotted with each other… now's the time."

Regina stamped her foot impatiently. "Time for what? Stop speaking in riddles."

"It's time to escape this prison," Merlin answered flatly.

Emma raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly do I come into that?"

"Well, the good news is that I don't intend to kill either you or the captain. I need you both alive for this," Merlin responded easily. "Now that you've had time to nuture your love, I intend to smash your True Love into nothingness."

Emma looked as though she'd been punched. She slipped into the seat next to Regina, who took her hand. "You just said you wouldn't kill either of us."

Merlin rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "That's true. I don't intend to kill you, or him, I need to kill the love you have for each other."

"I will never stop loving Killian. That's the whole point of True Love; it's the most powerful force, the most powerful magic."

Merlin nodded along. "Yes, and shattering True Love, it's like… splitting the atom. Boom! Breaking the bonds of True Love creates a ripple effect, and part of that effect will set me free."

Emma felt all her strength rush back. "People have spent my whole life denying me love. Now that I have it – with Killian, my son, my parents, my friends – I will not give it up. You will not succeed."

Merlin shrugged, uncaring. "I suppose I could try just convincing you that he's wrong for you. Would that work? Would it help? I mean, what do you really know about him, about those centuries of piracy and murder and violence and fucking every woman who could charm into dropping her knickers? Not very much, I presume. He's a bad choice for you, Saviour."

Emma gripped Regina's hand. "He has changed. For me. For my son. For our child. Killian loves me with all his soul. And I love him with all of mine."

Merlin stood abruptly, upsetting the tea tray and stomping the table into dust to clear his way to her. He knelt in front of her. "I will destroy your love. You two are an easy target. A violent, angry, traitorous pirate and a broken, lonely orphan who could still throw those walls back up around her heart at the least hint of wavering from the pirate she loves. The man you think he is… that's not who he was. Let's see who's right, shall we?"

He gripped hard to Emma's arm and yanked her hard away from Regina. Regina had just enough time to throw a tracking spell at her before Merlin shoved Emma at the far wall and spoke words in a language she didn't understand. Emma see that she was surrounded by a strange, green, glowing circle that seemed to pulsate in time with her heartbeat. "Goodbye, Saviour. Your pirate captain can send you back at any time, simply by giving you True Love's kiss. Easy. Enjoy!" Merlin grinned.

Regina threw herself at her friend, but it was too late. Emma was gone.

She rounded on Merlin, casting a restraining spell that held him fast to the wall. "Tell me where you sent Emma, or I will destroy you."

"Destroying me is well beyond your power, witch," Merlin sighed. "And never to worry, Emma is with her love. I sent her back to Hook."

"Hook?"

"Yes, she claims to love him. Well, she can love him as he was decades ago, before she was born. If he doesn't kill her first."

"You sent her through time? He'll know who she is. He won't hurt her," Regina spat.

Merlin threw his head back and laughed. "Of course," he roared, " _of course_ he'll know who she is. He'll know precisely who she is. I have sent Captain Hook everything he has ever wanted: his wife, his saviour, his only child, his lifelong dream of family and belonging, True Love. His redemption. He has it all right now, in that cosy little cabin on his enchanted ship." Merlin struggled briefly and freed himself from Regina's spell, the sat back down on the sofa, restored the table and tea and poured himself a cup. "Tell me, Regina, you knew him before. Before his precious Emma. Will the pirate give up his treasure? Will he send her back to her son and her parents? Or will he keep her all for himself?"

Regina stopped breathing. If Hook kept Emma, if he didn't send her back, what would happen to Henry? Would he cease to exist? What of her parents? Of Storybrooke's salvation? What of Regina's own salvation from her hatred and revenge? If he held Emma in the past, the future would be utterly sacrificed. "Emma won't love him if he keeps her away from Henry," Regina spoke her thoughts aloud. "And he couldn't truly love her unless he put her needs first."

"Exactly," Merlin smiled, all confidence. "He has the power to send her back to her timeline. Or he can keep The Saviour for himself.

"So.. Regina, you tell me. What will the pirate do?"

 _ **Please leave a review! I could really use the support at the minute. Thank you, lovely readers.**_


	33. Chapter 33

Emma could barely blink her eyes open, the sun was so strong. Killian was kneeling next to her; she could smell his scent and hear his voice, harsh and commanding, shouting orders. She was disorientated; she felt as though she was tilting, pitching, and she tried to reach out for Killian, to steady herself against him.

Wet. Her clothes felt wet and sticky. And she could taste saltwater. Had Merlin sent her to the Jolly Roger? She supposed she lay somewhere on some deck, gaining her bearings, but she could ever remember the correct nautical terms. She smiled to herself, thinking how amusingly annoyed he'd be to have to remind her for the eightieth time…

Anyway, how had she made it back to the Jolly? She ached as though she had been bashed about. Her fingers flew to her belly, but that link of magic she shared with her child, insubstantial as it was, reassured her that the baby had survived. What had Davy told her? Don't worry, the baby is tough. Have faith, she told herself, no matter how much it cuts against your nature.

The shouting all around her grew more insistent. Killian still knelt nearby, but she could feel anger rolling off him. Better reassure him, too, Emma thought to herself, before he kills someone for hurting me.

"Killian, hey, I'm okay," she grinned up at him, his face no more than a shadow with the sun positioned directly behind his head. She reached her hand up to smooth his hair away from his eyes. Was it longer than before? "Stop shouting at everyone, please. My head hurts something awful. I think I must have bumped it."

He remained absolutely silent. The shouting immediately around her stopped, though, crew and all, at the sight of her hand entangled in the captain's hair. For the first time she could hear gulls and the angry slap of storm waves against the hull, the urgent conversations of sailors and anguished groans further off. She tried to prop herself up on her elbow, but the deck felt slippery and dipped with the waves, and she worried that she'd fall if she tried to haul herself upright. Blinded and immobilised, she reached her hand out to him. "Could you help me up, babe? I don't think I can manage."

Killian turned his face to the side, his profile sharp against the sun, throwing another order across the deck to an unseen sailor: "Gut that traitor from neck to balls. Do it now. Then throw him overboard." He turned his face back to Emma. His hand reached up to grip her wrist and pull it harshly away from his face. "And you'd better tell me exactly who the fuck you are, before I gut you as well."

Emma stopped breathing. "Killian?" she whispered.

"How do you know my name?" he demanded, his voice dead.

Just then another sailor passed behind Killian, blocking out the sun. The movement threw Killian's features into sharp relief. He was scowling at her, blood dripping from his coat and sword, and from his hook. Emma stared at the hook. Why… how… did he get the hook back? Killian gave her a sarcastic grin, "You must have at least suspected there'd be a hook, love. The name didn't give it away? Perhaps milady thought it was a euphemism?"

She blinked. She cursed her hormones, but her lip was starting to tremble with the effort of not bursting into tears. "Killian," she whispered again. "Tell me this is a dream. Wake me up."

Something about her expression seemed to give him pause. He signalled for two of his crew to step forward and drag her to her feet. He hopped to his much faster. Emma looked down and saw that her dress was covered in blood mixed with seawater. That was why the deck felt so slippery, she realised. She slowly ran her gaze over the sun-drenched deck, taking in the crew gawping at her and the seven or eight dead bodies scattered across the wooden decking. The latest – slit open precisely as Killian had ordered – was still twitching as he bled out. The dead wore elaborate red and blue naval uniforms. She blinked beyond the crew, towards the rear of the ship. She made out the skull and crossbones on a black field, flying proudly over the Jolly's maindeck.

Emma vomited. The crew members holding her up didn't even flinch, as though this reaction was both expected and desired. This made Killian smile at last. No, Emma corrected herself, not Killian. Hook.

"Now... who the bloody fuck are you?" he demanded again. His pirate's eyes took in the necklace. "And why are you wearing my jewels?"

Emma opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish. "Killian, please, I need to sit down. I need some water."

"If you don't answer the question, love, I'm about to give you more water than you bargained for," he retorted, nodding towards the side of the ship. A few of the sailors guffawed, sneering at her.

Emma could feel a deep anger bubbling away in her blood, but her only surface acknowledgement was that she began to cry. The sailors holding her arms were squeezing her to the point of pain. "If you want the necklace back, just have one of your crew take it off me." She spoke clearly despite the tears.

"Those are Eternal Spring stones, love. They only clasp if put on by your True Love, and only he can take them off again. So I repeat… how the hell did they end up around your neck? They belong in a trunk in my quarters." Hook wasn't sure if he believed the legend, but he knew the stones to be precious beyond price, and he wanted them back. He'd been planning to pay his crew a fat packet of gold each with the money raised from those gems.

Emma's wet dress was stuck tight to her body, highlighting every curve. Hook ran his gaze across her body, and he seemed to notice her belly for the first time: not very large, yet, true, but it was obvious enough that her belly was not in keeping with her slim frame. "I assume it's the same man who put that baby in there, put the stones on your neck?" He laughed derisively.

Emma gave him a hollow laugh in return. "Yeah, it's the same guy." She swayed as the ship hit a choppy series of waves. The sailors either side of her tightened their grips, digging their fingers into her arm. She winced, which brought more tears. She hated herself for looking weak in front of this man. Both pirates at her side tried the release the necklace, but of course neither could.

"They're stuck tight, Captain."

Hook seemed to stiffen in his stance. "Take them off," he told her in a voice that made her jump slightly. To their left, he noticed a fallen man in a naval uniform struggling to his feet. Hook lunged towards him and with a graceful swipe of his hook, tore the man's throat open. The sailor hit the deck with a sickening crack, mouth open to scream, but vocals chords severed. He did not die immediately, but thrashed and twitched nearer and nearer. Emma couldn't look away. She felt the nausea rise again.

"Sympathetic to that shit-eating piece of rubbish, are you?" Hook demanded. "You must be one of King George's minions, then. Is that bastard sending women to do his work now?"

Emma shuffled a bit to one side, both to distance herself from the dying sailor, and so that she could see Hook more clearly without the direct sun in her eyes. "No, I don't work for King George." She tried to keep her voice strong, and she tried not to throw up again. Her true identity was definitely off the table, then, as David had been George's heir. She had no idea exactly where in this timeline David began fighting against George, and whether Killian would have any knowledge of it out here on the high seas.

"We can work out who you are in the brig," Hook snapped. "For now, take off the jewels and hand them to me."

"I can't. You know very well that I can't," she responded quietly. She leaned into him, her eyes large and accusatory. "Why don't you try?" she hissed.

Hook stilled. He looked her over from her satin slippers to her golden hair, lingering on her emerging belly. Emma followed his gaze without blinking, and she saw it, just there, the moment that Hook joined up the dots. She saw the realisation dawn on his handsome face, every bit as beguiling in this incarnation. He reached forward tentatively, his fingers lingering on her collarbone. Emma met his gaze and held it; he looked like someone papering over his nerves with an expression of bored disdain. He inched his fingers around the back of her neck to the clasp. With one touch of his hand, the clasp fell open and the necklace dropped onto his waiting hook, hovering just above Emma's swollen breasts. He wasn't smiling now.

"Take her to the brig, then, Jasper," a familiar voice barked. Emma snapped her head round to look at him: Smee. "You heard the cap'n. We need this deck cleared before George sends another of his attack dogs on us."

A sailor that Emma couldn't see, behind her, pinned both of her arms back and started shoving her below deck. Hook stopped him with the flat of his sword. "Jasper… hold her still." Hook brought himself almost nose to nose with her. Emma breathed far too rapidly, feeling a strange coldness taking hold, alongside a dizzying headache. And heartache. Shock, her logical self argued. You're going into shock. Calm down, calm down, she ordered her mind and body. Calm down for the baby. This is how people miscarry. She closed her eyes to regain control of her emotions and reactions.

Hook pressed the long edge of his sword across her body and let it bite in, just a touch. Emma began to gasp for air. He's going to kill me, she thought. I'm George's granddaughter, and somehow he knows that. Merlin must have sent me back in time so that Killian could murder me and destroy our love. She let out a long, low sob and tried to back away from the blade, but the sailor behind her stood fast, immovable as a mountain.

"Answer me girl. Where did you get those stones?" Hook hissed.

Emma met his gaze at last. He looked angry, yes, but also curious. "You know very well where I got them. There's only one possible answer. Only one person could possibly have fixed them around my neck, and it's the same person who took them off," she shot back.

Hook snapped the sword back and sheathed it without a word, never taking his eyes off of her. "Take her to my quarters," he spoke gruffly. The pirate holding her hustled her forward, causing her to trip and nearly fall on the blood-slicked deck. Hook caught her. "Be careful with her, you bloody great prick." He didn't seem to entirely believe her, but that at least had bought her a reprieve. "Put her in my quarters, lock her in, and leave. No one stays with her. No one touches her. If anyone does, I will personally bleed him long and slow."

…

When the door to the cabin closed behind her captors, and Emma was left on her own, she sank to the floor and cried. She took deep, gasping breaths and spoke aloud to the baby, telling her not to worry. I have to combat the shock, she thought. Get warm. She shrugged out of her soaked, ruined dress and wandered over to the washstand in her shift.

She felt at home here, the cabin so unchanged from this time to hers. She cleaned her face and hands and arms, washing away the salt and blood. She picked the blanket up off his bed and turned it over in her hands – it was the same one they'd lain under in Neverland. That thought brought a fresh round of tears. She wrapped herself up and sat on the floor, her back to the bunk, and waited until her shaking stopped and her dizziness eased.

After an hour or so, she stopped crying and opened the drawer where she knew Killian kept handkerchiefs – and there they were. Neatly folded, everything in its place. She helped herself to one and wiped her eyes. The room smelled like him, moreso now when he lived here full time than it did in her timeline. She remembered meeting another version of past-Hook in the tavern, stumbling back to his ship, and how carelessly he had treated her, as just another conquest. She glanced down at her bump sardonically: no chance he'd dismiss her importance to his future self this time, she thought.

Emma decided to look around for familiar objects, hoping to calm herself down. She was running her fingers over the beautiful, hand-drawn maps spread across his desk, her back to the doorway. She let one fingernail trace his elegant cursive rendering of strange names of islands and seas and ports. She heard the hatch open and shut behind her, and she could sense him standing in the entranceway, taking her measure. She decided to break the silence herself: "Your maps are works of art, Killian. I'm going to have to frame some of them, in my time. Once we have a home, of course," she smiled, knowing he couldn't see her face. He took a step closer, and she looked over her shoulder at him. He had washed off the worst of the blood and little drops of the seawater he'd used still clung to his hair and eyelashes. He moved to stand next to her, at the same time twisting off his hook and laying it on the desk next to the maps.

She could tell with one look into his blue eyes – cautious, curious – that Hook's brain had processed the entire scenario. He knew exactly who she was to him, or at least some version of him.

"I hope you don't mind…" she held up the handkerchief. "I washed up, too. I didn't intend to intrude, but…" she shrugged, and smiled faintly.

Hook simply nodded. "But you know this cabin well. Apparently some version of me has given you permission to do as you please here."

"Killian," she began, turning full to him. "This is a shock for both of us…"

Hook cut her off. "Please sit down." She automatically perched on the edge of his bed. He raised his eyebrows at this, and she noticed he had been gesturing to a chair in front of the desk. Emma blushed and made to move off the bed. "No need," he said curtly, holding up his hand to indicate that she should stay put, "I suppose I should expect a level of familiarity, given…" he waved the hand in the direction of her bump. "Might I ask your name?"

"Emma Swan."

Hook raise the eyebrow again. "Not Jones, then?"

"Oh, um, well, we hadn't really discussed that."

His eyebrow shot up slightly higher. "Have I not married you, then, Emma? That seems like bad form, considering your condition." He was clearly weighing the evidence: Eternity Stones and possible True Love, but no wedding ring and not a Jones.

Emma coughed and then rambled, suddenly wishing she had gone down a more traditional and easily defensible route with the wedding. "We are married. But very recently, and I guess taking your husband's name isn't a foregone conclusion in my time. It was sort of an unexpected ceremony."

He cocked his head to the side, considering that. He nodded again to himself. "The necklace implies more than just marriage. But the lack of marriage implies that the stones are a parlour trick." He stood and paced the length of the cabin, never taking his eyes off of her.

"We _are_ married, it's just.."

"Your clothing implies a certain level of wealth," he continued as though she had not spoken, "but then I assume I wouldn't let my wife wander about in rags." Hook sat down heavily on the chair across from her, leaving that statement hanging between them. "What am I to you?" he finally asked.

Emma angled herself towards him. She blinked into his familiar blue eyes. The man before her had all the potential to be her Killian. The naval officer was still there, the man of honour. "What are you to me?" she repeated thoughtfully. "You are everything to me, Killian, and much more." Her voice shuddered a bit. "And I've been ripped away from you. I don't know what _my_ you must think, whether or not you know I'm alive, whether our child is alive." She felt the tears starting again. "You promised me that you wouldn't leave me alone," she sobbed.

Hook made no move to comfort her, letting her cry and studying her all the while. Finally, he coaxed her down onto the bed and pulled the blanket up over her. "Whoever you are, you're exhausted and ill. I'm going to send for some water for you to drink and a bit of food. You need to eat."

Emma started laughing through the sobbing. "Oh my God, even this version of you is obsessed with feeding me regular meals."

Hook regarded her with an emotion that bordered on the wistful. He tried to conjure this version of himself: Killian, not Hook; a devoted husband and soon-to-be father; someone who brought his pregnant wife snacks because he worried about the baby; and someone who gifted her with priceless, romantic jewellery. He recognised this person in himself. He knew it could be. This woman was blindingly beautiful, with her shining hair in soft waves and her jade eyes, and her breasts, oh god, her breasts beneath that thin chemise. And she looked at him so trustingly, absolutely believing that he would protect and care for her. Care for the breasts.

Then again, perhaps she was a siren, or a witch. Or a traitorous mermaid somehow walking on two legs.

He called over Smee, and sent him for a tray of food and fresh drinking water. When Hook returned with the food and drink, Emma had a book in her lap. One of his books. More accurately, one of Liam's. She was running her fingers down the cover. "This poetry book," Emma smiled. "You read it to me all the time when I can't sleep."

Bloody fucking hell, if any of what she said was true, then he really must be wasted for this woman, because the mere suggestion that Captain Hook read poetry to his lover to chase away her nightmares… it was ludicrous. And now that she had mentioned it, it was all he could do keep from cuddling up to her against the pillows and reading her the damn book. He handed her a glass of water without a change in expression. She kept looking at him with those big green eyes, like she also expected him to crawl under the covers with her and read a few stanzas.

Hook pulled a chair up near the bed – but not too near – while she drank the water and ate the stew. "Where, or when, are you from?"

Emma looked at her hands. "From our future, at least I think so. You've never mentioned this battle, but… there's a lot about your past that I don't know."

"And in this future, we're married, you're pregnant, and I take it that child is mine."

Emma nodded her assent, but answered a bit sharply, "Of course she's yours."

"She?" He swallowed that. "Do we have any other children?"

Emma shook her head. "I have a son, but from years before I met you. His father is dead, and Henry thinks of you as a father, now." She decided not to mention Baelfire by name; the story was too confusing as it was, and she feared making any direct link between herself and the Dark One. "I'm not really sure how much I should tell you. I mean, it could mess up the future, right?"

Emma shivered, and Hook immediately reached for another blanket and arranged it around her shoulders. "I want to know why you're here, and how. But right now I need to tell you that there's a battle on. A bloody enormous battle against King George's men, and I certainly wouldn't choose to have my pregnant wife right in the godsdamned middle of it. I lost a man in that last skirmish."

"King George," Emma breathed, catching on a bit more now. She knew roughly where she was in time then, sometime just before her birth, as George's cursed self had existed in Storybrooke.

"You know of him? In the future?" Killian looked slightly suspicious.

"Yes. My parents knew of him, and they told me stories," Emma lied as smoothly as possible. Do not mention the sort-of grandfather by adoption of father's twin brother situation. Or Baelfire.

"Ah, so is he dead in your future?" Now he simply looked curious, perhaps a bit hopeful. "Tell me I killed him."

"Listen, I really shouldn't tell you too much about the future. I've probably said far too much already," she deflected. "But I will tell you why I'm here: Merlin. He sent me here to ummm…" Emma faltered. "To destroy our love."

Killian kicked back in his chair. Merlin. A dark wizard. Another wanking magical creature trying to screw with his life. Assuming this blonde enchantress was telling the truth. Still, hard to fake the Eternity Stones, he reasoned. Or his undeniable desire to rip off that chemise and bury his face in those fabulous… but no. He needed space to think, that's what he needed. It was hard to think with those eyes cataloguing his every movement, and damn it to the depths, he could make out every line of her body in that chemise. He had caught sight of her nipples, and they were making his mouth water.

Killian shoved the chair back and rose suddenly. Emma flinched involuntarily.

"I'll not hurt you, Emma, if what you tell me is true," he said, somewhat more softly. "If you're mine… no one will hurt you."

Emma did not consider that particularly reassuring. If he found that she had magic, he might consider the stones a trick. A pounding on the hatch interrupted them. "Captain! Another of King George's ships is coming this way at full tilt!"

Hook strode over to the desk. He picked up his hook and snapped it decisively into place. "Stay put," he ordered. He considered her, lying in his bed, tucked under his quilt, wrapped in his blanket, his brother's book in her hand. And allegedly, his child in her belly. His jewels around her… Ah, yes.

"Here, lass," he pulled the Eternity Spring stones from his pocket. "You'd best have these back." He walked back her and sat down on the side of the bed, his eyes steady on hers. He handed her the necklace.

Emma shook her head. "I can't fix them in place," she reminded him. "You'll have to do it."

Hook hesitated. Then he gently brushed his fingertips across her neck and swept her hair out of the way. He slid the clasp into place at the back of her neck. It clicked shut, locked now until he unlocked them for her. "Those look like they've longed to grace your neck since they were dug up from underground." Emma tried to stifle a happy sigh and failed. Hook leaned forward and pressed his lips to the third finger of her left hand. "I know the stones mean the same thing, but I find it hard to believe I haven't put a ring on this hand. I must have changed greatly in the future, if I don't feel the need to warn off any bastards who might try to speak to a woman that's mine." He gifted her with a sexy smirk. "At least tell me I've killed someone over you."

She grew a bit nervous over his line of questioning. Jealous, armed, and about to wage another battle to the death, he looked like Hook to her, rather than Killian, and the difference was stark. She recalled his joking words to her on the street in New York: _'Where'd you hide the pirate?' 'Right here love. Why, do you need someone killed?'_ They didn't seem quite so funny now.

"You've killed men _for_ me. But no one's been suicidal enough to try to tempt me away from you, at least not in your hearing."

Hook seemed satisfied with her answer. He placed another kiss on her left hand and rose to climb the steps out of his cabin. "I mean it, lass. Do. Not. Move." There was not a hint of a smile on his face now.

"I can help, you know, with the battle."

"No, lass, I'll not have you in danger, especially not with the babe." For a moment, his frown looked exactly like Killian's. Emma felt her stomach do a little flip. He continued in a dead-cold voice of authority: "You will stay down here, out of sight and out of the way." The tone implied consequences for disobedience.

He rushed up the ladder and the cabin's door swung shut with a bang that made her jump. She laid one protective hand over her belly and let her head fall back against the wall. She shouldn't interfere, she reasoned. He would certainly fly into a rage at being crossed, and worse still, her presence could put him off his game. She found it hard to sit still, though, when a deafening crack reverberated through the Jolly Roger, as the naval vessel slammed into it. The Roger's cannons fired, shaking her again, and a thunder of feet above her seemed to be stamping and scraping across the wood. She could smell blood and heard the metallic scrape of sword against sword. She could hear him through the din of the battle, rasping out orders and insults and curses. Emma tightened her grip on the quilt and tried to stay out of it. When she couldn't take anymore, she ran to the ladder and opened the hatch slowly, just enough for a glimpse of him.

She had chosen the exact moment that the past tense of her husband was digging his hook deep into a man's throat. Blood sprayed across him as he pulled away, the body hitting the deck with a lifeless thud. He turned without a sound or a backwards glance and slit the abdomen of another assailant, using his hook and sword together to slice open the enemy sailor. The expression on Hook's face wasn't murderous, and that surprised her, just intensely focussed. He was thinking logically, critically about each move, the location of everyone on his ship. So it shouldn't have surprised her when his next attack, sword slashing with precision and intent, brought him right in front of her. She could see the blood seeping into the space between the sole of his boot and the heel. He was so close that the hatch obscured her view, so did not see him thrust his blade through the man's neck, but she saw the result clearly enough when the body flopped into her line of vision, eyes rolling and throat spurting arterial blood. Hook yelled as he spotted her, momentarily distracted from the fight by the sight of her head and neck exposed to the battle. She felt his voice echo around her bones and seep into the soft tissue of her body.

At that moment, a pulse of power surged from within her, unbidden. The action on deck froze: one pirate was poised with his cutlass half-sunk into a sailor's belly, and she spotted Smee in mid-battle cry, hurling himself at a red-coated sailor, swinging a mace. She and Hook were the only people still moving. She felt his arm tighten around her upper arm and he dragged her to him, turning her and tugging her until she was nose to nose with his icy blue stare.

"What is this?" he demanded, his voice threatening but level and no louder than necessary.

Instead of answering, Emma closed her eyes against his gaze and let her magic penetrate the tableau before her, freezing it solid. She opened her eyes again to him and whispered, "The baby. Your voice… you shouted to me… the baby doesn't know you aren't him. She sensed danger to you, or to me, and, well…"

Hook stared at her, letting this news sink in. "I married a witch," he said aloud, turning the facts over in his mind. "After spending two centuries searching for a way to defeat a dark wizard, you're telling me that I married a witch?" He pushed her away from him, and let his eyes travel to her belly. Instinct made her quickly bring both hands up to protect her bump. "And what's more, my child is a witch as well."

Emma's spine straightened as she mustered a response, his evident disgust completely undoing her. "I'm not a witch," she shot back. "Our daughter is not a witch. She is gifted, because of our True Love." She tried to back further from Hook, but he snagged her arm with his hook and hauled her back. "Killian would never say that, he just never would. Never think it."

"Possibly he would never say it, but I find it hard to believe that the thought would never occur to me. And he's still _me_ , isn't he?"

"I'm not evil! Our daughter is not evil!" She whipped her arm out of Hook's trap and shoved him full in the chest. "She was trying to protect you! I'm trying to do the same. Look," she turned Hook around, "you were distracted looking at me, and this man had the tip of his blade inches from kidneys."

Hook's features hardened. He glanced around him at the frozen scene, "You and I will finish this later. However, I'm not one to turn down an opportunity." Without a thought for Emma, who still stood watching, he ripped his hook jaggedly down the chest and gut of the man whose sword had come so close to killing him. The man remained frozen, no blood spilled, not even his face could contort with the torturous pain.

Hook wandered the deck of his ship at leisure, running through every one of the king's men with his sword. At the end of this killing spree, he wiped the blade clean on the trousers of his last victim. "Please thank my child for me. You may restart time whenever you please."

Emma let the control she'd been exerting to hold things still falter and die. She closed her eyes against the results, even as the shrieks of the dying and the confused shouts of Killian's crew filled the air. She felt her strength drain away with the spell, but whatever else she knew him to be, Emma knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that Hook would catch her as her legs weakened and her feet skidded on the slippery wood beneath her feet.

He had his arms beneath her shoulders and knees as soon as her saw her falter. He thought it a feminine sort of swoon, she could tell, which pissed her right off. It took a tremendous amount of strength to exert that kind of force over time and physics. She just needed a moment to rest and more secure footing. Then again, she thought, his arms did feel rather wonderful, and she didn't care to walk through the death and muck on deck, truth be told. She leaned her head against Hook's chest, closed her eyes and pretended that she had fainted. She pretended he was Killian.

"Smith!" he yelled. His voice punctured her daydream of Killian and she opened one eye. A burly sailor strode over to him. The pirate had a long straggly beard and a bleeding gash across his ear and left cheek and at least a week's worth of grime worked into every surface and crevice. Hook dumped Emma unceremoniously into the pirate's arms. "I've work to do and this woman has passed out. Again. Put her in my bed for me." She could almost hear Hook smirking and the pirates around him snorted lecherously. "No touching. I will take both your hands if you do."

Smith smelled precisely as he looked. Emma tried to wriggle from his grasp. "And Smith, lock her in. If she doesn't like my cabin, we can always put her in the brig." Killian leaned in closer. "Did you hear that, love? Be a good girl and wait in my bed for me. I'd hate to lock you in the cell. I have a feeling you're used to more sumptuous surroundings."

Emma tried to escape Smith's iron grip and lunge at Killian's arrogant head. But she was held fast, and unless she resorted to magic, she would have to do as he ordered, along with everyone else on the ship. She felt a growing resentment at him and the whole situation.

"Don't be too long," she called to him sarcastically, as Smith carried her towards Hook's quarters. "I really can't wait to get my hands on you."


	34. Chapter 34

Angry, frustrated, exhausted, humiliated and frankly hungry – why had that son of a bitch pirate chosen _now_ to stop feeding her nonstop? – Emma raged through the captain's quarters, sweeping maps and ink and books to the floor, scavenging his neatly stacked belongings from their neatly ordered drawers and flinging them across the cabin. She was just starting up a magical bonfire in the centre of the room when the hatch above banged open and the son of a bitch in question sauntered calmly down the steep stairs.

"Making yourself at home, love?" He cast a cautious eye over his scattered belongings. "Is this a glimpse at my happy home life with you?"

Emma threw herself at him full force, both hands aimed at that conceited, infuriating smirk. He caught her hands, but the speed of her attack knocked him back against a bookcase. He spun her, pinning both hands above her head with his hook anchored firmly in the wall of the cabin. He leaned in so close that Emma could see the smirk still front and centre, his eyes roaming down her neck and the top of her dress. He licked his lips and pressed himself against her, pinning her to the wall.

"I've come home victorious in battle, darling, and this is my welcome?" He let his hand slide along her curves and settle on her waist. "I like to believe that my True Love would be somewhat more pleased to see me safe. More… accommodating. Grateful."

Emma narrowed her eyes and snapped at his face. He backed off an inch or two. "If safe was what you wanted, you bastard, then you shouldn't have locked me up like an animal. I would take that stupid smile off your face permanently if it didn't endanger the future existence of my child."

"Do you really think you could hurt me, woman?" he grinned, and his hand was moving again, his hook digging into her wrists. She winced at the pain. Then she realised that it was no longer his hand sketching her hip and thigh. Somehow he had slipped a knife into his hand, and he was running it up and down her body, as if looking for the best place to cut her.

Emma stopped struggling and followed his eyes. He was focussed straight down her cleavage. She nudged her forehead hard against his to regain his attention on her face, and she stared hard into his blue eyes. His expression was unreadable. Emma let the energy of her magic release around her, lifting every object in the room that wasn't nailed down into the air, letting them float and swirl around them. He let his gaze flick to the right and left, enough to see his possessions hovering around them. She breathed against his face, "Bring it, pirate. Let's see how you fare against my magic."

Hook looked back at her with practiced boredom. He released her wrists and stepped back, carefully avoiding the hovering books and clothes and glasses. He waved them aside, seemingly perfectly at ease with this scenario. He opened his desk drawer, retrieved something that she couldn't see and suddenly threw it towards her. Emma was immobilised. Everything clattered and smashed to the floor.

"Squid ink," he smiled victoriously. "You think I'd hunt an evil wizard for this long without arming myself against those who would hide behind magic?" He strode over to Emma and picked her up roughly, then seemed to remember her pregnancy, and gently set her down on his bed. "Relax, love, it will wear off in an hour or so, and if you're the sweet, obedient wife that I know you can be, I won't use any more on you."

"Fuck off, Hook!"

Hook grinned and settled into a chair next to his bunk. "Looks like I didn't marry you for your gracious manners." He leaned forwards in his chair, considering her. "And there will be no fucking. I may be a pirate, but I won't take advantage of a trapped woman."

So Killian hadn't been lying about that, when he told her that his crew would be punished for rape. This man had an underlying moral code, one that would eventually make him hers. "I am not just some woman. I am the mother of your child."

He tilted his head to one side. "So you keep saying." He let out a sigh, a sound she had not expected. "I suppose I'd best feed you, then, now that you're under control." His chair scraped harshly as he stood up. "I'll be back with a meal and some water." Emma could do nothing except lie there in a bed she'd shared with Killian and watch him climb the stairs to the deck, tears starting to roll down her cheeks, and wait for Hook to return.

David locked the door of the last house in town, having corralled twenty villagers into it. He'd questioned them all, counted every one. Two hundred and thirty-seven men, women, children and infants. All under lock and key and careful watch, separated into groups of no more than twenty. Every last one of them seemed to be in a hazy enchantment, controlled by the wizard in the invisible castle, but compliant and harmless failing his orders.

Killian and Mac were standing near the village market hall, swords still drawn and alert for attack. The little town crackled with possibility beneath its quiet, dull exterior. David swept his eyes over the surrounding grassland.

"Snow and three of your cousins are still sweeping the grassland for anyone we've missed," David reported, "But we have all we found locked away."

Killian looked over towards the castle. He couldn't see it anymore, not without Emma to guide him, but he knew its exact location and appearance. He couldn't see her, couldn't feel her presence and he couldn't stop the gnawing worry. He was about to explain his plan to take some men around the far side of the castle, when something… changed… in his head.

He reached out for Mac, holding his cousin's shoulder for support. A vision, then dozens, shifted behind his closed eyes. A battle that he remembered… King George's ships… but the details were muddied and … no, he supposed that's how it always had been. He'd killed the lot of them, single-handedly, because they were frozen? Logic argued against that.

"Killian?" Mac and David were shaking him. Was he on his knees, on the ground?

There was a girl, wet and bloody and her hair shone like gold in the sunlight. Her necklace blinded him, the direct sun reflected back into his eyes from the polished stones around her neck. Killian gasped. Emma. Emma on the deck of his ship. Emma scared and cold and injured.

"David!" he rasped. "Emma's on my ship. She's on the Jolly Roger."

"What? How… has Merlin sent her there? I'll get a horse, make for the harbour…"

"No!" Killian grabbed a fistful of David's jacket. "Not now. I mean, she's not there now. She _was_ there, years ago, before she was born, before the curse." Shit, his head hurt, he couldn't open his eyes. He scanned his memories, but everything was shifting and uncertain, like an earthquake beneath his past. He's pinning her to the wall of his cabin, leering at her with his crew, dragging his hook through a man's innards in front of her. The stench of the Jolly after a battle overwhelms him as though it were yesterday: body parts drying on the wooden planks, his crew unwashed for weeks on end, festering wounds and pus, dumping saltwater over his own head to wash off the gore. And Emma witness to it all. Witch that she is. His own child, his unborn daughter, a witch. Like Regina. Like _Rumplefuckingstiltskin_. And he, Captain Hook, commander of his own ship, his own destiny, pinned like a bug on corkboard by True Love.

David watched as Killian collapsed completely into the dirt, clutching his head. Mac knelt over him on the other side. Eventually he raised his head, his eyes opaque and hard as stones. "Merlin has sent Emma to me, to my past. She's not in the castle. She's on the Jolly, in my cabin and I'm holding a knife to her." Out of the corner of his eye, Killian saw David grip the hilt of his sword. "What bloody difference is killing me now going to make, prince?" Killian sneered. "It's me roughly 30 years ago that should concern you."

David's jaw tightened. Every concern he'd ever had about the pirate not being good enough for his daughter came rushing back. Emma had been so quick to dismiss his past, to insist that Killian be judged on how much he had changed. And now here she was, at Hook's mercy. "It does concern me! Do something about it."

Mac and Killian both shot him twin looks of incredulity with their matching blue eyes. "Memory only works one direction, Dave," Killian sarked. His whole attitude seemed suddenly as infused with Hook as his memories. "Hook has my wife and my baby. And I can only sit here and watch as he fucks up my life. So lay the hell off."

…

Three weeks. Emma had been on board this ship – or boat, as she sometimes called it, just to mess with him – for three long, uncomfortable, blood-sodden weeks. Hook had taken another naval vessel a week ago, gutting every last man aboard, then two merchant ships full of cloth, gold and spices. His men had stored the most valuable cargo into the hold of the Jolly Roger and tossed the rest overboard, to be certain the George didn't profit from any of it.

They had made port hours ago, and Hook had immediately found her a room at reputable inn just beyond the waterfront. Not one he usually frequented, she could tell. He'd actually been accosted by women in the streets as he led her through town, women shouting greetings and lewd offers and referencing past shagging. Emma nearly drilled a hole into his head with her livid stare. 1,000 was looking like a very fucking conservative estimate from where she stood now.

She was actually shaking with rage even hours later. The inn-keeper's daughters had brought her in a large metal bathtub and filled it with rose-scented water. She steeped in the floral infusion for 20 minutes, rubbing soap through her hair and sweet almond oil over the ends to detangle it. She scrubbed every inch of herself with lavender soap, finishing with a thin coating of the comforting oil and an extended brushing session for her hair. She glowed. She was still wrapped in a linen towel, ensuring the last of the dirt was removed from beneath her toenails, when she heard the metallic knock on her door. Hook. Subtle, not.

Emma tucked the towel around herself more securely and opened the door. His jaw dropped temporarily at the sight of her, skin damp and pink and smelling like a flower garden in high summer. He recovered quickly enough, handing her a linen package tied in a ribbon.

"Some fresh clothes," he said, staring unabashed at her belly beneath the linen towel. She looked decidedly second trimester now, she knew. Fairly obviously pregnant. She took the package with a disgusted sound at the back of her throat. "How many died for this?" she wondered aloud.

Hook only shrugged, walking past her into the room and settling himself in one of the armchairs by the window. It overlooked the harbour in the distance, and he could keep an eye of the Jolly Roger as it was unloaded. "Can't say I've ever bothered to break down my takings by lives lost."

Emma gave the satiny ribbon a tug and it came free beneath her fingertips. The fabric of the shift on top was the softest material she'd ever encountered. The dress beneath was a warm but light, and a foamy green that even Killian's sisters-in-law would have nodded approvingly at. She raised an angry eyebrow at him all the same. "As you've entered uninvited, you could at least turn around so that I can dress in peace."

Hook stood dramatically and moved into the chair opposite, which faced away from her. He didn't bother mentioning that he could still see her in the reflection on the window. "Better? One wonders, Emma, how we ever managed to conceive a child with your eternal need for _privacy_ in such matters."

Emma let the towel fall from her body and slipped the chemise over her head. It was brushed cotton, so warm and soft and free of saltwater that Emma sighed in contentment. Still facing the window and its unintentionally marvelous view, Hook grinned at the sound. "You are pleased with the purchases then, despite their mortal cost?"

He watched as Emma pulled the dress over her head and laced it loosely over her breasts and belly, _sans_ corset. She picked up a clean pair of brushed cotton stockings from the pile and slid them up her legs. Finally dressed, she came to sit down in the chair across from him.

Hook reached across his knees and rested one hand on her belly. "And how is my little girl today?"

"She's still your prisoner, just as I am."

Hook flashed her a look that made her shudder. It disappeared almost as fast as it had arrived, and he schooled his features into indifference again. He removed his hand. "I am certain that no version of me could argue with how I have treated you. I have kept you safe and well, made sure you are as comfortable as I could possibly make you. You want for nothing."

"Are you insane?" Emma hissed. "Want for nothing? I want my husband. I want my son. I want my family. I want to go home."

"I am your husband, and this is your family," Hook stood abruptly. "And I take damned good care of you."

Emma seethed. "I am not a pet that just needs to be fed and watered and bathed – although, honestly, thank you for that bath." He smiled at that. Now she reached across to him and took his hand and hook. "Send us home, Hook. Please. Send us back to him."

She had delivered some version of this plea every day for three weeks. He had never stayed in the same room long enough to hear how he might accomplish this, always marching off in a temper. Just as he attempted now. The armchair tipped over he stood so quickly. But Emma was faster. She slipped herself between him and the silver-plated door handle, and as he always did, he took a step away from her to keep from crowding the baby. He avoided her eyes even as she sought his. This time, she touched his face. Hook sucked in a breath; it was the first unsolicited touch Emma had gifted him with. It worked. He looked her in the eyes. She rubbed her hand gently over his scruff, trying to form a connection.

Emma's voice had grown a bit hysterical. "I need True Love's kiss, so that I can go home to the man you will one day be, with his baby, and he's going to take me to proper hospital in New York, with a neo-natal unit and blood pressure monitoring and approved pain relief drugs. Doctors who can stop haemorrhaging." Emma felt the stirrings of tears behind her eyes; she was finding it difficult to breathe. "And he's going to construct flat-pack baby furniture with an allen key and paint the nursery walls while I'm out so that I don't inhale the fumes because he _worries_ about me. He's going to be insufferable with a baby to worry about." Emma hiccupped, and Hook took advantage of her momentary silence.

"I only understood about one word in three, love. But I caught the part about kissing you well enough," Hook lingered nearer her. "But True Love's kiss? Mrs Jones as may be, I don't know you well enough to love you."

Emma just smiled sadly at him. "Yes, you do. You love me. You are incapable of feeling any other way about me."

Hook pressed closer still, this time picking up a lock of her wet, fragrant hair and twisting it between his fingers. "And you don't love me. You love him."

"Don't be an idiot, Hook. Of course I love you. I love every part of you, including," she ran her arm up and down his leather coat and over the hilt of his sword, "including this. You're no less Hook then, you know. And no less Killian."

"What will happen if I kiss you? If it works?"

"I'm not exactly sure. I should go back. I think. But it's not just any kiss. You have to be thinking of me, only me, and what I need and desire."

Hook took a step back from her. "And what if I don't want you to go back? What if I want you to stay right here, with me?"

Emma stilled. "If you didn't send me back to my son and my family, back where having the baby is safest, for her and for me… then you wouldn't love me. Not truly. And I wouldn't love you. It would break us, and Merlin would win. It's why he sent me here in the first place, to snap us in half."

Hook reached up with his hand and hook to remove her hands from his face. He reached around to the door handle. "Now that you're dressed, perhaps you would like some dinner. I shall await you downstairs. Come down when you're ready."

He stepped deftly around her and slipped into the corridor, closing the door behind him. He stood absolutely silently there, listening as she threw herself against the door and sobbed for Killian. Hook pushed away from the door, fist clenched, and took the stairs to the ground floor two at a time to stop himself from pushing the door open and kissing her, just as she'd begged him to.


	35. Chapter 35

_**Thank you for the reviews - they mean so much.**_

The interlude in the port town lasted only 24 hours, long enough for the cargo to be unloaded and sold to the highest bidder. Killian parceled out the takings to his crew and they disappeared into the alleyways and whorehouses and taverns, returning at midday next, hungover but in high spirits. They sang and swayed their way back on board. The men had washed, after a fashion, and fought, and fucked. The fighting had taken its toll on the men – gashed lips, split knuckles, bloodied noses – and Emma felt an immediate urge to help them, heal them. But that would mean admitting to a whole ship of men that she had magic. They could heal on their own.

Still, these rough, hungover men were all that passed for Killian's family, and she felt the pressure of her knowledge: that he had family, family that wanted him, in Cath Harbour. Mac's parents were alive, living in that house on the square, with eight growing, blue-eyed boys that would one day become Killian's allies.

Hook took Emma's arm and walked her back up the gangplank to the ship. The crew quieted a touch to watch her, long hair shining and Eternity Stones still glittering at her throat. Hook had explained nothing about her presence to his crew, simply expecting them to fall in with whatever he decided. He had been their captain for over a century by now, and their loyalty was not even a question.

Smee carried the soap and hairbrush and dresses and shoes and cloak that Hook had bought for her, and he disappeared below deck to store her things. Emma cringed to think of Smee rifling through her underwear and her few personal belongings. Everything she had, Hook had given her. She was utterly dependent on him, for her safety, her food, her lodgings and with luck, her way back to her own timeline. She resented every moment of it. She resented him.

Emma expected him to guide her below deck, as he had done for the past few weeks. But instead he steered her towards the helm. She stood by as he discussed their course with an unusually well-spoken sailor by the name of Frenen. Frenen advised Hook that another of George's warships were scouring nearby port towns for him; a rider had arrived in port that morning to warn Hook that The Excelsior, George's flagship, was about 15 miles up the coast, docked and taking on supplies.

"The Excelsior? Now that would be an incredible prize…" he trailed off from his scheming when he felt Emma tense at his side. He shifted his eyes just enough to take her in: disapproval wafted from her just as surely as the scent of the perfumed oil she had used in her hair. Disapproval and something else – concern? – that pulled Hook up sharpish. "Why don't we send a small party to scope her out."

Frenan nodded and turned to carry out his captain's orders. Hook pulled Emma tighter against him, his attention everywhere else - on the re-loading of his ship with supplies, a not-entirely-good-natured fight breaking out on deck – until he noticed that Emma had stopped breathing. He inched himself back from her to take in her face, set in a frown and looking distant. She didn't, at least, look particularly angry with him, so he shrugged it off and called to Smee to take more care with the water barrels.

Emma herself was trying to dredge up a half-remembered, overheard conversation. _She's lying in Killian's lap, his hands strumming through her hair, and then she startles as he booms out a laugh above her. David is leaning forward over the campfire, loudly telling Mac and Oona and Snow and Regina a story about Hook, long ago, back in the Enchanted Forest before the curse struck. David had been fighting to free Snow from George, when the king had been forced to dash off to his council because Captain Hook had taken and then burned his most expensive warship. Killian and David were both laughing now, at how they had been unknowingly helping each other long before they ever met. "Aye, taking The Excelsior, that was something. My crew and I celebrated for weeks. I lost not a single man in destroying that arse's best ship," Killian laughs as Emma smiles absently in his arms, her thoughts consumed by how very good his hands feel along her face and scalp._

Emma gasped. She knew by now that Hook taking ships was no laughing matter. What had she been thinking? Stupid, empty-headed, besotted idiot that she had been. She should have been paying attention, not stretching like a satisfied cat as he had petted her. How many men crewed a ship like The Excelsior? Men just like Killian had been… naval officers, perhaps naïve or indebted or simply guided by a sense of duty, and Hook was going to slaughter them. Slaughter them and laugh about it later, with his love's body stretched across his lap, a tale to be told over a campfire to friends. She knew how that story ended: Killian had picked her up and carried her up the stairs of Mac and Oona's house to a warm, soft bed. She had awoken from an intoxicating, erotic dream to find Killian's head between her wide open thighs, his tongue gently teasing her, his blue eyes watching her, waiting for her to wake up and scream his name. Which she dutifully had done.

Who was he, this man, her man? His blinding smile and sparkling eyes and smoldering sincerity had scrubbed all the blood from his history. Stupid, stupid, stupid. When he said he'd been dark, been a villain, had she listened? No, she'd made excuses for him. Accepted that he'd changed. He had killed, but he had killed for her: the men in their apartment in New York, the men in Mac and Oona's house, the men in the alleyway, the men camped above Cath Harbour… And yes, he had changed. But had she bargained on all of this? What did Emma Swan, a relatively uneducated orphan from the Land Without Magic, know of pirates? A fuckload more than she had a few weeks ago, that's what.

Hook kept a close watch on Emma via peripheral vision. She had stood still and tense at his side but had now begun to breathe rapidly, shallowly. Those luscious breasts were pushing against her gown and retracting with every inhalation and exhalation. No matter how arousing the view, Hook recognised that his wife/mistress/prisoner was hyperventilating, and he finally turned to give her his full attention.

"Emma, love, are you all right?"

Her eyes flew to his, slightly wild and definitely spooked. She looked like she was taking the measure of his soul, and he felt fairly certain he was not measuring up to whatever the criteria were. He narrowed his eyes and appraised her, not allowing himself to buckle under her scrutiny.

"You appear unwell, Ms Swan," he said in a low voice. He tucked her firmly against his side and turned her towards the hatch that led to his quarters. "You need a rest. I imagine that your condition has taken more of a toll on you than you realise."

Oh, hell, yes it has, Emma thought wryly. I'm pregnant by Captain Hook, and now I'm stuck with Captain Hook, and having sliced and stabbed his way through two ships, he was about to massacre the crew of yet another. By the time her shock and loathing lifted enough for her to recognise her surroundings, Hook had settled her into his bed with a fresh jug of water nearby. He laid her back across the pillows and stroked his hand along her forehead and down her face with a look of such unguarded concern that Emma wondered, if she slipped his reading glasses onto his face, if he'd become Killian in an instant. Hook let his fingers wander into her hair, following the waves down past her collarbone to where they rested over her breasts. She sensed his breathing picking up speed. "Do you need anything, Emma?" he asked in a quiet voice, one that fully expected to be turned down.

God help her, he looked delicious: all black leather and bright blue eyes rimmed with kohl and dangerous sharpness. Emma melted. Who was she kidding? There wasn't much left that Merlin's little time-travel trick could show her that would change her heart where Killian was concerned. At some point, she'd already forgiven him all of this. She wanted him desperately, despite the fact that he was about to attack another ship – or maybe because of it. She needed everything he had to give, truth be told, and quite a lot that he didn't yet know he possessed.

"Mmmm," Emma murmured, letting one of her hands trail over his scruff. "I need a kiss." She paused and let her fingers slide into his hair. "I think you need a kiss, too, Captain." She pulled him so close that his eyes dominated her field of vision, rested her forehead against his, and gazed at him through her lashes. She couldn't help the smile that played on her lips; he would never resist this. He loved her. She would have her kiss and be home in moments.

"Emma," Hook whispered, drawing his arm around her waist. "You are so bloody beautiful." He stroked his thumb over her lower lip and seemed to take in every detail of her face. His fingers slid down her cheek, her throat, meandered through her hair and played down the strands until they settled over the tops of her breasts. Emma's smile only grew wider: he is so gone, she let herself close her eyes for a moment, only to reopen them big and wanting for effect. Emma knew exactly how to play this man and she had no intention of holding back. She needed that kiss. "You are perfection, love." He brought a loose handful of her hair to his face and breathed in, then settled his gaze back on her eyes. "I'll give you that kiss, Emma." He brought his lips just a feather's-width away from her own. "But you're mine," she felt his hand trailing lightly over their daughter, "both of you."

Emma did not have a chance to let his words sink in before his lips were on her, gentle only for a moment and then increasingly passionate, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and tugging her mouth open. Emma opened her lips for him almost from habit, before the cold reality of the situation dawned on her: no pulse of light, no homecoming, and no habit as she had never kissed _this_ man before in her life. She whipped her hand from his hair and pushed the palm of her hand into his chest, shoving his back just far enough to break the kiss. She stared at him in open shock. "It didn't work!" she panted. "How… why didn't it work?"

Wordlessly, Hook chased after her lips and stole another kiss, this one tingling all the way to her fingertips and toes. His tongue touched hers and she felt him use the grip on the back of her neck – when had _that_ happened? – to tilt her head and explore more deeply. Her hand remained flat against his chest, but she made no attempt to push him away again. He continued kissing her, and she continued to kiss him back, until she realised that her back was pressed into the mattress and his hook was stealthily unlacing the front of her dress. She tried to push him back; he resisted, but only for a moment, finally releasing her mouth.

"I'm still here," she whispered shakily.

"Yes," he grinned as he unwound the last of the bow that had held the front of her dress together. "So you are. Here we are together." Avoiding her eyes, his hand smoothed over her breast where her dress has loosened and his thumb slipped beneath the fabric to circle a nipple. He lowered his face to her chest, moved aside the silk and cotton blocking his way, and let his tongue trail across her breast and along the path his thumb had just taken. Emma sucked in a sharp breath. "Emma," he mumbled against one tight nipple, "Did you really think I'd let you go?"

With that she pushed him hard in the chest and this time she managed to wind him slightly and put some distance between his wicked tongue and her weakening self-control. She sat up so quickly that he had to duck back further to avoid being headed in the face. His hand, however, was still on her breast, stroking and teasing. "The rules of this game seem to involve me wanting to send you back to myself. But I don't want that. I just want you. I even want her," he nodded to her bump, "though I admit I wasn't so sure at first."

"So you believe me?" she asked breathlessly. "You believe that I'm your true love, that this is your child?"

Hook let his eyes rake over her and finally found her eyes again. "Aye, I believe that I love you, that this baby is mine. On the balance of probabilities… perhaps my true love," and here he shrugged.

Emma let out a little sob and she let herself hammer against him once with her fist. "Then how can you keep me here?"

Hook let his hand trail further beneath her dress, his calloused fingers tickling over her bare ribs and abdomen. "I suppose I want you, and I don't want to let you go." His fingers began to trail lower, his hook parting her dress and ripping almost imperceptibly through her shift to clear the way for his hand. "Shall we see if you want me, too?"

Emma rediscovered her self-control in a blaze of anger. She knew precisely what his fingers would discover if allowed to continue on their current trajectory, and she doubted that the evidence of her desire would do her any good at all. She pushed both of his hands out to the sides so fast that the sharp tip of his hook left a deep scratch across her hip.

"Oh, godsdamnit, Emma… are you all right?" Hook reached for a clean piece of linen and pressed it against the bleeding cut. "That was too close to the babe…" Emma noticed his hands shook as he held the cloth against her. He reached for his flask of rum on the desk and uncorked it with his teeth. Emma stopped breathing, the memory of him doing the same on the beanstalk hitting her hard. He poured some ono the cloth and covered the scratch again with the disinfecting alcohol; she hissed and pressed the back of her head against the bed, closing her eyes to block the pain. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Wasn't your fault," she replied through gritted teeth.

"No," he answered sharply. "The wound was not my fault. I was apologising for adding to the pain with the rum. That cut is deep and entirely your own doing. If it had been a bit deeper," he shuddered a breath, "The baby…" he didn't finish.

Emma opened her eyes again and considered him for the thousandth time, trying to figure him out. "The baby is fine, and I will be as well. Thank you," she said softly.

"I will thank _you_ to take greater care with our child. I don't want the little thing stabbed to death in its mother's womb," he huffed.

Oh. Some fatherly instincts, then. Emma smiled, even with the insult to her pre-parenting skills. "I'll be more careful," she nodded.

"Also, you don't eat enough," he added in a temper.

Emma pulled herself up on her elbows. Hook had begun lacing up the front of her dress and was apparently considering her body in a more… dare she think it… husbandly sort of way. Less of the illicit pirate lover.

"Anything else?"

Hook stopped lacing, having reached the top of her dress. He left his hand pressing the clean cloth across her cut over the fabric of her dress. "You don't rest enough. You carry heavy objects even though I've told every man on board to stop you doing so. Haven't you yet noticed the whole-ship uproar that occurs when you try to move boxes about on deck?" Emma had, on reflection, noticed that picking up anything heavier than a plate of food sent frightened pirates rushing to her aid. She had found it annoying; now she realised that it was order.

Emma reached out for his face, as she had back at the beginning of this conversation. "Hook, I don't eat, and I don't really sleep, because I'm sad. I miss Killian. And I know that he misses me. I miss my son, and my parents."

A knock on the door interrupted her before she could layer on the emotional pressure. "It's Frenan," a voice called above the hatch. "We've reached The Excelsior, captain, and I have a report."

"A moment, please," Hook called back. He turned to Emma. "Keep pressing on that," he nodded to her hip.

"Hook, please, you can't mean to keep me aboard as you sack King George's flagship…"

"I think we have established that I will keep you safe, Emma," he shot back, eyes flashing. "You needn't worry yourself, and really shouldn't, for the babe."

With that he bolted up the steps and out of the hatch. Emma dropped her arms to the bed in frustration. He was relenting, true, but far too slowly. At this rate she'd be going into labour before she managed to get him to send her home to Killian.

When she climbed the stairs an hour later, she found Hook, Smee, Frenan and two other, older men gathered around a hastily-constructed table made up of two crates. Hook and Frennan sat where the deck rose a step towards the helm. The other three crouched, listening intently. Emma sighed and looked around for a place to sit in the sunshine. She spotted a crate across the deck, shoved up to the balustrade, with a large coil of rope on top. She made her way across the deck, but just as her hand reached for the rope, a sailor snatched it from the crate. She jumped back in fright at the sudden movement, causing a second man to rush forward and steady her. He removed his hands from her the moment she had her feet again, and apologised profusely for having touched her. Profusely and profanely. "Hells, missus, forgive me an' Bastard Pete here. Fuck knows that cap'n 'd have our hands off if he see us letting you hefting up that rope." Pete snorted. "Or touchin' 'er anywhere. You're good as godsdamned dead, Kennel." Emma, Pete and Kennel all looked back across the deck at Hook, who had indeed stood up on the top deck and was staring fire at the three of them.

"I think he saw," Emma said quietly.

"Fucking too right he did. That man sees every godsdamned thing ever happens on this ship," Bastard Pete muttered. "Eyes like a fucking hawk." Emma felt the deck shake as Hook stalked over to them, sword drawn. Despite this, both men stepped in front of her. "She didn't do nuthin', cap'n," Pete protested. "Just stumbled a bit is all."

Bastard Pete, Emma thought, had severely misjudged the object of Hook's wrath. "Stumbled after this guttersnipe knocked into her," Hook growled, pointing the sword at Kennel. "A fall could have tragic consequences for a woman in Miss Swan's condition. Which would have similarly tragic consequences for you lot."

"Captain, these men were only trying to spare me lifting the rope from the box. I was hoping to sit down in the sunshine for a bit."

Emma thought that this would calm him down, but she too had misjudged his mood. Hook reached between Pete and Kennel, grabbing her arm and hauling her towards him. "You should think more carefully about where you place yourself, Miss Swan. There are too many dangers on deck at the moment. Perhaps you should wait below, as I suggested earlier," he all but spat. Emma once again felt herself tearing up. Do not cry in front of him, she repeated to herself, but it was too late and her hormones were too much to fight. Emma felt a couple of tears slide down her face. Hook must be immune to my crying fits by now, she thought.

Kennel made to grab at Hook's arm, but wisely stopped himself. "I was jus' fetchin' Missus a cushion to sit on. I'll make sure she doesn't come to no harm on deck, cap'n."

Hook released her arm. He dug into his coat pocket for a fresh handkerchief and handed it to her. "See that you do, Kennel. Remember my instructions." He turned sharply to rejoin the men planning the attack on The Excelsior.

Pete had already arranged a cushion on the crate and sat Emma down. "Don't you mind 'im, Missus. Bark's much worse than his bite," he smiled at her encouragingly.

"Well, that ain't true, is it?" Kennel barked. "His fuckin' bite is lethal."

Emma thanked the men and let them go about their business. She noticed that Kennel stayed close at any rate. She watched Hook, surrounded by his men, arguing strategies and options, and occasionally taking a swig from his flask. The sun had started to drop behind the horizon. She could still see land to the east, though faintly, and thought that this must be where The Excelsior had made port. A rocky series of islands lay between The Jolly Roger and the shore, no doubt blocking the pirate ship from view onshore.

How had Killian done it, she wondered. How had he managed to convince her that she loved him? How had he made her admit it? She wasn't used to being the one doing the convincing. She had known before they fell through the portal that he loved her. And she had known that she loved him, truth be told, but would never have admitted it. She remembered their first night in the Enchanted Forest, when they made love and she gifted him his hand. Had it been True Love then? When did it shift to an emotion that made fairies swoon and trees glow?

As she watched him plotting and planning, it came to her: strategy. Killian never did anything without an endgame in mind and all the possible countermoves worked out. First, she needed to make a memory charm to steal all thoughts of her from the heads of every man on board. Then she'd need a particular memory potion for Hook. Then… she needed The Villa. It had worked before, on her. And she needed to do it all before the attack on The Excelsior. She know about that event, and there was no way she should be around for it. Hook had to prevail. It was key for him and his crew, and of the utmost importance to her parents, as it weakened and distracted George.

Emma reached one hand behind her back. She remembered Neal's dreamcatcher: she could use that. She let her mind roam through his apartment in New York and snatched it into her hand. She held it before her and it shimmered as she imbued it with the magic to erase the memories of his crew. She could take Hook's memories herself once she had him inside The Villa. She needed to get the charm onto the highest spot on the ship, so that it would reach everyone on board.

"Kennel," she called. "I've made a good luck charm for The Jolly Roger. I know you'll all be going into battle soon, and I fear that Hook will put me off the ship before it…"

"I should fucking hope so, Missus!"

"Yes, well, I wanted to leave behind something to keep you all safe. Could you attach it to the crow's nest for me?"

Kennel gave her a gap=toothed smile. "That's nice o' you, Missus. I will do." He started his long climb up the main mast, Hook watching him all the while. He stood again, dismissing the men around him, and strode back over to Emma. "What's that fool up to now?"

Emma beamed at him and took his arm. "Would you accompany back to your quarters, Captain?"

Hook side-eyed her sceptically, but nodded. "What's going on in that stunning head of yours, Miss Swan?"

She let him open the hatch for her and help her negotiate the ladder. If nothing else, she thought, I need to get off this ship before I'm too huge to make it up and down the steps unaided. Hook guided her to a chair and poured her out a glass of water. "I'll call for dinner to brought down, shall I?" he asked.

"No, Hook, I…" Emma stopped. She patted the seat directly in front of her and held her hands out to him across the table. "I know you're planning your attack for tomorrow, Hook, and I just wanted…" she shrugged gently, self deprecatingly, and he took both of her hands in this one, "I wanted us to be somewhere special, just for tonight. This is a game I've played with Killian. Do you trust me?"

Hook considered her with sharp blue eyes. "I do, yes."

"Then here's how this works. I want you to think of the most wonderful place you can, somewhere you actually know, somewhere you want me to see…" Hook nodded. "You have to close your eyes and really imagine it in great detail," Emma continued softly.

"All right," he said, his eyes closed. Emma squeezed his hand in hers and summoned all her love for Killian, studying Hook's face, reading his thoughts. When she glanced away from him, she gasped. There it was: the softest of sea breezes blew through the open windows of the villa, where they sat cross-legged, facing each other on the four-poster bed. Outside, they were surrounded by nothing but ocean on all sides, an unreal blue and clear for meters under the surface. She could see shoals of fish diving and rising in the water, and a whale breaching in the distance, calling its song across the gentle waves. Tears started down her cheeks again. He's going to think I'm mad, crying at this idyll. "Hook," she breathed, "open your eyes, my love. I think you've brought us exactly where we need to be."

 _ **I meant to update you on what's happening back with Merlin and Regina and Killian and David, but this just ran on, so next time...**_

 _ **Please take a moment to review this fic if you're enjoying it (or not!). I'd love to hear from you.**_


	36. Chapter 36

_**Thank you once again for the reviews! Just magical. And to answer the question about how many more chapters this will be: I hesitate to answer, as I had initially envisioned this as 10 or 12 chapters. I was waaaaay off! As always, I hope you enjoy the chapter, and I'll be back with more as soon as possible.**_

"Have you managed to get the sword off him?" Will asked hesitantly, peering into the abandoned farmhouse from a safe distance. The sound of pottery shattering and furniture splintering resounded across the packed earth of the front yard, as did the nonstop swearing and cursing of the man inside.

David and Mac both slumped from the house and shook their heads. "We can't get near him," admitted Mac. "He won't listen to either of us. He's been taking that place apart mud brick by mud brick for the better part of 2 hours."

"Every time I think he's exhausted himself, he comes back for another round of destruction," David sighed. The three men looked helplessly through the gaping doorway; the solid oak farm door had been the first of Killian's casualties. They leaned on their swords and waited. At another pause in the swearing and smashing, they stood up taller and listened closely, but the pauses only served to let Killian's rage reboil and spill over, all the hotter.

The snapping of a twig behind made them all jump, momentarily fearing that the pirate had somehow made his way behind them. Snow made a disapproving sound with her tongue and gave her husband a short shove towards the door. "What are you three doing out here? You were supposed to stop him."

"He's swinging the sword at us, in a blind rage. He beat us back twice and didn't look like to stop for fear of drawing our blood," Mac explained.

"We can't just leave him in there," Snow exhorted them. "In this mood, he might turn that rage on himself. After all, it's his own self he's so angry at."

Snow made to cross the threshold, but both David and Will caught her arms, and Mac flung himself across the doorframe. She shook them off and motioned for Mac to step aside. "I'm not going to take him on myself, for godssake. I'm only going within shouting distance. And Killian will not hurt me, no matter how angry he is," Snow insisted.

"He's not in his right mind, Your Majesty," Mac argued. "The memories clashing have left him with headaches and he's not… stable. Not himself."

Snow inclined her head to acknowledge that truth, but she carried on inside anyway, the three men following at a short distance. They could hear a clatter and crash above their heads, and climbed the stairs cautiously, calling out Killian all the while, so that they wouldn't surprise him.

Snow found him in the chaos of what used to be a large bedroom. Shreds of fabric and feathers from the ruined bedding circled the room in a breeze gusting in through the smashed windows. His boots crunched through the shards of pottery and glassware and broken mirrors that littered the wooden floorboards. He had hacked through 3 of the four tall, wooden posts on the corners of the bed, and they lay like fallen tree trunks on a thick rug beneath the bed. His hands were bloodied, blistered and raw from a rampage that had lasted most of the last week. Killian looked as though he had never slept in his life, blank blue eyes underscored by heavy dark smudges of sleeplessness and self-hatred. He roared at the door when he saw her blocking it.

"Did you think sending a woman would make me relent, David?" he snapped.

Snow crept closer to him, holding her hands out in offering. "Killian, please put the sword down and let me bandage your hands. Emma would never forgive us if we let you hurt yourself like this."

"Emma!" he scoffed, "Your precious little princess. Do you know where she's been, Dave? Her parents must want an update," Killian called around Snow through the doorway. "She's in the middle of our fucking bed with _him_ , that's where." Killian began pounding away at the final bedpost.

"Killian, please, set the sword down. Please. She's trying to get back to you, you know that. She's trying to convince him…"

Killian whipped round and stomped three steps towards Snow, a move that finally brought David, Mac and Will to the front, swords drawn, to deter him. Killian didn't flinch, but he took his sword and thrust it straight down through the centre of the bed, so hard that it cleaved through the thick mattress and embedded in the floor beneath.

"Do you know what's she is doing to convince him, Your Majesty," Killian spat. "Shall I spell it out for you? I have a fairy good visual recall."

Snow had a hard time believing that Emma, who had after all resisted Hook's charms for months after their first meeting, would have dived into bed with the man within a month. Then again, she and Killian had gone from the occasional date night to impending parenthood in roughly a month, so perhaps Hook had worked his charms on her. No… Snow shook off the thought. She loved Killian far too much to upset him like this.

"Killian, anything Emma is doing, she is doing out of love for you and her children and her family. You know her so well. She would never betray you," Snow spoke softly and moved a step closer to him. She motioned the men to move back. "There is simply nothing we can do from here. We cannot touch the past…"

"I know that!" Killian erupted again, then sank down on the bed and dropped his head into his hands. He kneaded his fingers into his skull.

Snow sat hesitantly on the bed next to him. "Is it painful – the memories constantly changing?" Killian nodded. Snow reached around him and pulled a pillow from the bed and tucked it onto her lap. Then she coaxed Killian's head onto the pillow and placed her palm over his forehead. She rubbed her fingers into his temples, and he shuddered out a breath of relief.

"Killian, please, no more stalking around like a wounded animal. You are sad and angry and frustrated and physically hurting. Let me help. You have family now, you know. We will always help you."

He opened his eyes just enough to look up backwards at Snow. He didn't smile, but she could see that the rage had run its course. "I'm sorry I didn't bring a stock of Advil with me," she smiled at him. He just closed his eyes again and mumbled, "No worries. I've always medicated with rum. Works just as well." Snow shook her head and grinned at him.

"I'll find you a bottle, cousin," Mac called from the doorway, as he and David and Will sheathed their swords.

David wandered over to put a hand on his wife's shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze. "Killian, I know she'll make it back. No incarnation of you can say no to my daughter for very long."

"Let's hope so," Killian replied. He pushed himself to him feet and yanked his sword back out of the ruined bed. "I'm going to take a little walk in the meadow to clear my head. Don't follow." He clumped down the stairs and headed toward the grassy plain where he knew that the quiet would calm the ache. David and Snow watched him disappear down the rickety stairs, and only after he'd gone did Snow rest her head on David's chest and start crying.

…

At sunrise, Regina threw open the window of her room, wondering as she had every morning for nearly a month if this was the day Merlin told her that there was a time limit. She'd not figured it out yet. When Emma had disappeared, Regina had smashed everything in Merlin's carefully appointed drawing room, only to have him magic them all back to pristine perfection a moment later.

She'd considered leaving the castle to talk things over with Hook and Snow, but she knew that once out, she could not get back in. And since she could not fathom Merlin's game plan, she didn't want to leave. As it turned out, he seemed happy for her to stay. He must, she supposed, have been lonely, and after such a long quarantine, even hostile company must have been welcome. She also couldn't figure out if he was allowing her to stay, or if it was simply beyond his power to make her go. But then what had allowed him to curse Emma into the past?

It only took Regina 24 hours to find the hall of mirrors. Garish and ornate, with gilt shimmering from every frame, the long ballroom was covered floor to ceiling in clear mirrors. Regina had nearly fallen to the parquet floor in laughter. Who would leave the evil queen alone in a hall full of mirrors? She wasted no time in finding Emma and Hook, and Killian, Snow and David. She sat in the room every day, watching and waiting. She could see Emma's anger and desperation, Hook's guilt and conflicted feelings, and Killian's despair and pain.

She tried at first to reach Emma, but she couldn't break the barrier of time.

Still, each morning, as soon as the sun was up, she returned to her spot beneath the mirrors. She could see Emma and Hook's whole world writ large across the hall, playing out in pieces of a huge picture all around her. The daily life aboard the ship, the horizon beyond, the storms and the sea and the sky. She saw Emma's belly growing bigger, and she knew that Killian could see it, too. He might miss the first times his baby kicked. He might, at this rate, miss the birth.

That was when Regina figured out the time limit. It was the baby. Just like Snow hadn't been able travel with Emma through the wardrobe to escape her own curse, the baby would be unable to travel back through time with Emma once it was its own entity, even if Hook finally did discover that she was his true love. The timeline, currently in some sort of holding pattern, would alter forever, and Emma would be trapped in the past with the baby she would, of course, never leave.

From the moment she made that discovery, Regina watched Emma's belly every day with increasing dread. So when she saw Emma introduce the pirate to his own magic, to the magic he was able to wield through his love for Emma, she felt hope for the first time in weeks. Not hope of the Snow-White-butterflies-and-rainbows sort, but hope based on evidence. Hook was weakening, becoming ever more invested in Emma's happiness and well-being above his own. And now he was sitting on a big bed, across from his true love, in a paradise of his own making.

Regina all but skipped into the kitchen to whip up some hot chocolate for her friend's imminent return.

…

Hook opened his eyes and there it was, just as he had seen it in his mind. Liam had been captain of the Jolly Roger when he'd seen this place last, and fuck knew that was lifetimes ago. This woman, this witch, his love and his sorceress, she'd made it come to life again. Or he had. Had they actually travelled there? Was he drunk, or drugged? The fairies used to induce fantasies in him to get what they wanted, but never something as real or as personal as this. Something he knew to be real. Their fantasies had been… fanstastical. And lecherous. And based on their own desires, never his. This felt soothing, gentle, loving. And he felt that he had… somehow… created it himself.

He kept his voice gruff, not willing to show her outwardly his utter awe of this – trick? swindle? miracle? – while things were still so tense between them. "How in seven hells did you do this, woman?"

"I didn't, you did," Emma held his hand more tightly. "This little house, our little house, is powered by our own magic. Our true love. I didn't know if it would work… Killian is my true love, and I didn't know if it would be… I don't know, backwards compatible?" Killian raised an eyebrow at the odd phrase. "I mean, even though you could work the necklace, I didn't know if our magic would still work. True Love is its own magic, kind of separate from mine, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it's fated, in some strange way, not just chosen." Emma shook her head.

"Aye. You mean, I never fell in love with you, I just was in love with you. Always. Even when I didn't know who you were." She smiled at him; Killian always cut through her ramblings and put things into the right words.

"I've seen this place before. You've shown it to me before."

"Did I tell that it really exists? Liam and I found this place when we were boys, still working as slaves on a godawful ship. We'd pulled into a port at this island, which should be there" – he pointed west – "but this version has blocked it out. While the crew and captain were dead drunk, off the ship in taverns, and we dived in for a swim. We nearly drown getting here, or at least I did. But we stayed the night on this little sand bar, and it never quite went under the tide at its highest point. We just watched the stars and talked all night, and felt free."

She smiled sadly at him – both of their histories were tragic, pathetic. Emma let her hand roam up and down his arm. So many blank pages had filled in, and did she really want to read all of them? She had never told Killian about how she spent night after night in alleyways and under bridges in the middle of a Portland winter at 15 years old, hungry and freezing and wishing herself dead. Or loved. Neither thing had happened. No one ever came to her aid. She struggled until she met Neal, and then she struggled after. Killian knew enough, and he knew better than to ask for more unless she wanted to tell it.

"Hook, I've made you up a forgetting potion. If you choose to send me back, you will need to drink this, so that we don't mess up the future."

"If I just keep you with me here, then the future won't matter. The most important thing is that we are together."

Emma clenched her teeth. "Hook, I have a son. I need to go home to him. And I cannot abandon your future self either. We cannot mess with time this way. But most importantly, I cannot love you if you will not send me home."

Hook tightened his jaw and glanced off to the side, as if looking for confirmation in the ocean outside the windows. "I know."

"What? You know? Does that mean you plan to send me home?"

Hook nodded. "Very well, Emma. I will send you back to myself." Emma launched herself across the bed and into his arms, cuddling into his embrace, crying and kissing his neck. "I'm going to miss you, Emma."

"No," she insisted. "You won't. You'll drink this, and you won't remember that we've met. I already took the memories of your crew. They're absorbed into the enchanted wood of the Jolly's mast. You must carry on exactly as before."

Emma suddenly realised that she could now share anything with him. He was going to forget. She could tell him some secret of her past, show him some key place that even Killian had not seen. Maybe somehow, even when he drank the potion, some part of her dark story would light his.

She thought back to her absolutely most dismal times. She had had no idea where she would sleep that first night she left prison, or any night after. She had given birth only six weeks before her release, and she was still feeling bereft. At least she'd had the Bug, a small but important mercy, which provided a roof and a locked door. She had no proper education and never had enough money to finish school. She was old enough to work when she left prison and she had worked ever since. Two weeks after she left prison, she'd had enough money to feed herself – legally, without shoplifting – for the first time. Four months of living in the car later, she'd finally saved enough for first and last month's rent on a tiny studio apartment with no heat. It had been heavenly. It took her another month to save enough for a mattress and a warm blanket.

"Hook, I know just what to show you in return," she almost laughed. "Close your eyes and try to focus on me, on what I'm thinking and feeling." She kept her eyes open, and saw the scene around them morph into that studio, after she had bought the mattress – her first ever piece of furniture. She'd blown some hard-earned money on fairy lights, because she was still just a girl, and somehow they made the place look magical, at least to her. She shook Hook's arm. "Look! This is the first place I ever called home. My own place." Hook looked around himself. They appeared to be sitting on a thin mattress over a hardwood floor. A single bulb hung from the ceiling above, lit without flame. The room held a pile of clothing, neatly stacked and folded in one corner, and a couple of books piled next to the mattress. No pillow, one thick blanket. Against the dim light of the bulb he could see dozens of twinkling lights stretched around a window that rattled in the wind and seemed to let in the cold. There were no curtains to keep out the breeze or the light. He could see his breath in the frigid air. On one wall, a hodgepodge of pictures had been stuck together to create a scene: mostly the pictures were of forests, trees, meadows and waterfalls, with some of beaches and sunsets. Emma was grinning from ear to ear.

"I loved that collage! I made it much bigger than that, in the end. I used to come home and just look at the photographs and sort of meditate, put myself in those places. It's funny now that I realise I'm from the Enchanted Forest and my True Love is a sailor," she giggled, then sighed. "I still love those fairy lights. I think I had to eat nothing but plain pasta for a week to afford them!"

Hook's jaw had dropped open, then closed firmly, then tightened. His lips settled into a hard line. "Love, you lived here?"

Emma nodded enthusiastically. "It was my first real home. I could come back after a double shift at the diner, and close the door. It was all mine, and I'd never had anything that was mine. Even the Bug was stolen. But this place I paid for myself," she added in a voice lit with accomplishment. At this point, Emma turned from walls to Hook's reaction, and noticed that the colour had drained from his face, and he looked… angry.

Emma supposed that if one were entirely objective, her little haven had been a shithole. But…

"Where the hell were your parents, love? Your family?"

"I didn't have parents, not while I was growing up," she stammered, suddenly uncertain of herself. Killian knew all of this. She felt sure that he would have been proud of her, taking such good care of herself at only 18. Hook, however, was floored. "I only met them when I was 28, after Henry came to find me. In a much nicer apartment!"

"And just how did you survive before you happened upon this godsforsaken hovel?"

Emma blinked. "Just a minute, there. I was happy in this place. Heartbroken at first, sure – more about Henry than Neal, really - but I felt like things were finally picking up for me. And they did, sort of. I got better and better jobs. Made more money. And I did it all for myself…"

Hook shook his head in disbelief. "You are a princess of the realm! You should not be starving in order to buy little twinkling lights!"

"Well I didn't know that at the time! I think I'm pretty amazing to have gone from absolutely nothing to this in only a few months."

At this, Hook reached out and grabbed her, hauling her into his lap and hugging her close. "Oh my gods, my love, I am so sorry." He took her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. "I swear I will fix this, love. It doesn't have to be this way. Now that I know… I can send you back to my future self, but at the same time I can travel to your realm and find you as a babe, save you from this fate. I can buy you whatever you need, keep you safe, keep that bastard Neal away from you…"

"Hook, no! No Neal means no Henry. No rescue when I'm 28. No discovering my parents, or breaking the curse. No you can't. Please… Hook, no. You need to let me live my life as it was. It sucked, that's true, but look at the compensation in the end. You, a whole big family, Henry, my friends, really good friends who love me, _you_ … I mean, for fuck's sake, look at yourself. How did I get this lucky?" She grinned through her tears. She didn't add that she was equally condemning him to 30 years of unnecessary loneliness: he had a family, too, unknown to him. She had the power to heal him of his self-hatred and thirst for vengeance, but couldn't, and it was tearing her soul apart. But she had spent too long here already, jeopardising their future.

He sighed. "Emma, I can't let you go through all of that."

"You must let me. I've already survived it, and you spend every day making it up to me. You've bought me a home in New York, and I have a feeling we'll soon have one or two others scattered across the realms when all of this is over. You want more babies." He raised a sceptical eyebrow at that one. Emma slipped her fingers through his hair and round to his face. "Believe me, I know I have a home with you."

Hook took the vial of memory potion from her hand. "What will happen if I drink this?"

"You'll kiss me, and then you'll be back on your ship, all memories of me forgotten. You'll take The Excelsior and celebrate for weeks. In 28ish years, Henry will find me, and then I'm going to find you. We're going to find each other. And we'll have adventures together, and travel through realms and time, and then one day you'll buy me a coffee and walk down the main street in Storybrooke with my hand in yours, and we'll fall through a portal. And I'll stop denying that I love you."

"Aye, love. I believe it. I can wait." He pressed her against him. "What's another 30 years, eh?"

She nuzzled her face into his shirtfront. "I want to go back so very badly. But I don't want to leave you."

He tilted her chin up to look into her eyes. "Are you sure there's no one I can kill for you, Emma, to ease your way a bit?"

Emma burst out laughing, apparently not the reaction he had been expecting his very serious suggestion, but her memories of that phrase just made it funny. "No, Hook, but I always love it when you offer." He raised both eyebrows. "Send me home. Take care of yourself, because I love you, and our daughter loves you."

Hook swallowed and kept her chin tilted to him. She felt his hooked arm drag her closer, so that she was almost crushed against him. "I love you, too, Emma Swan. Tell my daughter that I love her, and always did, decades before she was even conceived."

"Hook, you're going to tell her that yourself," Emma whispered against his lips. She tried to control her tears. She didn't want to sniffle and ruin the moment. She gripped the back of his head and kept her eyes locked on his, her fingers in his hair.

"Ready?" He asked her softly, and she sniffled in response. "Here goes…" And like the pirate he was, he didn't give her a gentle, chaste kiss. He bit her bottom lip and teased her mouth open, then slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her with enough passion to last him the next three decades and a dark curse. Emma pulled him closer, tugging his hair and responding with everything she had. Then she felt the familiar pulse of light, and then the calmness and heat, and the imageless white space that was their true love.

Hook opened his eyes to find himself stretched flat out on the deck of the Jolly Roger, his crew surrounding him, shouting and arguing, having just hauled him out of the ocean. He was soaked to the skin and freezing cold. Smee had poured a quantity of rum down his throat to revive him, and the burning liquor had wiped out the sweet memory of Emma's scent and taste on his tongue. His arms were empty. Emma was gone.

Hook didn't wait; the pain burned all the way through to the last places unreached by Liam's death and Milah's murder. He reached into this coat pocket and found the little vial she had given him. He uncorked it and swallowed it down without a second thought.

 _ **Please leave a review. Pretty please.**_


	37. Chapter 37

_**Again, my thanks to the reviewers and favouriters and followers. You make it worth it.**_

Emma awoke in bonechilling water, swimming, swimming towards the light, fighting to the surface. She struggled towards the sunlight. She couldn't breathe; the water surrounded her. But she knew the water was an illusion, albeit an unbreakable one. She was lying on a flat hunk of granite, surrounded by a sea of grass. She could see the tops of the village's largest buildings a short distance away, but much of her view was blocked by the neverending, swaying grass. Her head lay on something soft that protected her from the hard rock beneath her. Something warm was pressed across her belly. She looked down to see his ringed hand lying unconscious and protective across the baby, as he too began to wake and shift. He pushed himself up, her head nearly slipping from where it had rested on his thigh. She still couldn't breathe for the seawater choking her.

Killian woke sharply from where he'd been napping in the sun, waiting on the headache to abate. Emma lay across him, soaked through, shivering and stone cold. He sat up and gathered her into his arms, and he pushed her wet hair away from her face. Saltwater dripped onto his dry shirt and trousers. He looked at her, panicked, her eyes open but unmoving, no breath. Her lips were starting to lose colour; her face already had; her limbs felt rigid as he tried to move her.

"Emma, breathe," he begged. He lifted her motionless body up and angled her face to his. Locking his gaze on her glazed, green eyes, he pressed his lips to hers. A pulse of magic blew glowed from him, and Emma blinked, eyes unfocussed but alive, and immediately coughed. He quickly shifted himself onto his knees and carefully lay her on her side, letting her cough out all of the saltwater in her lungs. "There, my love, just breathe in now. I've got you." She sucked in lungfuls of fresh meadow air as Killian rubbed circles across her back. He stroked her hair and her arms and her back silently as he listened to her breathing.

"You're here," he muttered in quiet amazement. As she recovered, he ran his hands down her legs, neck and fingers, touching her everywhere to check for injuries. When she stopped coughing and fighting for air, he rolled her onto her back as she breathed more evenly, still caught between panic and relief.

"Do you hurt anywhere else?" Emma shook her head, still fighting to speak. "Shhh, love, relax. Breathe in and out. Calm down, you're going to be just fine now." He took off his jacket and tucked it beneath her head. Emma closed her eyes against the strong sunshine and started to cry. She'd made it. She was back. She could feel her own tears trickling down her face. Killian had unlaced her wet, heavy dress and pulled it free of her. She lay in a thin cotton shift that would dry quickly in the dry heat of the grasslands.

Killian laid both hands across her bump, reverently, silently. Her shape had changed in the month she'd been stolen from him. The baby took up definite space now. Killian rested his forehead on her belly along with his hands, dragging up her chemise so that he could get at her skin. He kissed her low across the bump and started whispering to their daughter. "Hey, little girl, your Daddy's here. I missed you so very much. I bet you didn't even notice I've been gone. You've been hearing my voice, haven't you?" He was rewarded with kick against his left hand. Emma shot up into a sitting position.

"Oh my god, Killian, did you feel that?" she rasped. He looked thunderstuck, and Emma laughed. "First proper kick I've felt. She missed you. God knows I have." And then she felt herself start to cry properly. She grabbed almost blindly for him and managed to grab hold of his shoulders. She ran her hands down his arms until she came to his own hands. She tugged his left hand to her face, kissing each knuckle and massaging his palm with her thumbs. Not Hook. Two hands. She threaded her fingers through them.

"Killian. It's really you."

"Aye, love. You made it. Looks like I sent you home."

She laughed and kissed him. He slipped one hand beneath her head and left the other on her belly, where their daughter was still kicking and tumbling excitedly. "And our wee lass is as tough as her mum," he murmured. Killian eased Emma back down to the rock and kissed her more deeply, hugging her close. It was different, sacred, gorgeous, how Killian kissed her. All of that history that she'd only started to explore with Hook; Killian had already absorbed. Now this was coming home, far more permanent and solid than any house or flat or ship or realm. He anchored her absolutely to himself. Hook had been right; she'd know this feeling anywhere, this love and safety and warmth. She shuddered in the wet cotton, so Killian slipped her wet shift over her head and let his fingers wander over her, squeezing gently at her limbs to bring back the warmth.

"You know what happened…" she began, but Killian cut her off.

"No, love, my memories are gone," he continue to touch her as he spoke, reacquainting himself with her body. Her lips had regained their pink colouring and her hands were warming. "I can remember that you've been gone, and I know that you were with Hook because I've spoken of it with your father and mother. I can remember the snapshots that I told them, and I can remember the headaches and the ceaseless worry. But what actually happened between us, no, it's gone. I have no memory of knowing you before I met you in that camp in the Enchanted Forest."

"You drank the potion, then, like a good pirate," she grinned at him.

"Aye, I always do as beautiful, blond goddesses tell me."

Emma rolled her hand over his scruffy beard and kissed him again. "You don't, no. Or at least you take a stupid long time about it. You're a stubborn bastard, but god I love you so very much." She had to tell him. Everything. All that had happened over the last month, and all that had happened in her own childhood. They were going to be parents, and he needed to know every item on the shockingly long list of why she was so fucked up. She needed to know all of his.

"I love you, too, Swan. Are you truly well? Should I fetch a doctor?"

Emma scanned her eyes around them, a vast nothingness of plains, the village all but invisible from their vantage point. "Is there a doctor to be fetched, even if I did need one?"

"Of sorts, in the village. We've kept the villagers under close watch. They're working for Merlin, either voluntarily or otherwise."

Emma scraped her nails across Killian's chest in response, giving him an unsubtle smile. "No doctor necessary. Get undressed, Captain. We have some lost time to make up for."

Killian pulled his shirt over his head and Emma was up on her knees in a moment, smoothing her hands over his chest and shoulders while he worked open the laces of his trousers. He saw the worry line between her brows deepen as she slid her fingers around the fresh cuts and bruising on his shoulders and arms. She stopped one of his hands and drew it closer for inspection: his right hand was swollen and badly cut, and the palm covered in blisters from gripping the sword for long hours. He'd held it next to him even as he slept, as though he could fight off the memories converging in his head. She looked back up at him with tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Killian, the whole experience was so overwhelming for me, I forgot what it must have been for you…"

He shook off her worry and regret and buried his face in her neck, kissing and sucking a mark into the space at the base of her hairline. "It's been fucking awful, black, utterly desperate. We can talk about it later." Emma was already starting to make lovely noises of arousal, and he brought both hands to explore the soft undersides of her breasts. He kissed his way down her chest until he was licking her nipples and sucking one into his eager mouth.

He lifted his face from her body and started talking. Emma grew wetter with every word and dark whisper. "Did you spread your legs for him, Emma? Were you wet for him like you always are for me?"

"No," Emma denied, glad his memories of that moment on Hook's bed had been wiped, and not seeing any practical reason to refresh his memory. "I didn't trust him, not like you. We never… I never let him inside of me." There, that was certainly true.

"Did he suck on these? Did he pull them into his mouth and bite them?" Damn. Follow-up questions? She shook her head, somehow abating the lie with a non-verbal answer. Again, only once, and that didn't really count. She thought of the clearly well-more-than-1,000 women she knew nothing of, and decided that even True Love needed a few secrets keeping. He nipped hard at her right breast and squeezed the left, staring straight into her eyes. "Did he leave marks on your beautiful body, love, for me to find?" Emma's eyes went slightly wider, and Killian's eyes narrowed in response. He lifted his lips from her wet nipple and ran his hands and eyes everywhere, settling quickly on the deep scratch across her right hip. "Hook," he breathed, voice tense, and traced along the upper edge of the cut with the fingers of his intact left hand. "How did you get this?" he demanded, his temper taught as bowstring.

Emma tilted her chin in defiance. "An accident. Hook was ripping open my dress at the time –" Killian's grip on her body tightened – "but I resisted him, and he let me resist. He didn't force himself on me, and I never consented."

Killian moved his hands down between her legs, and she opened them willingly for him. His left hand continued tracing into her slickness and he lowered his mouth to lick her exactly where she had been wanting his wicked tongue for a month. His thumb took over in little circles as he rested his beard-roughened cheek against her thigh. "Did you want him?" he asked, voice low and sensual again.

Emma only answered with a low sound in the back of her throat. He slid one finger into her, still rubbing infuriatingly gentle circles, watching her closely all the time. "You smell so good, love," he mumbled, swiping his tongue across her once again. "You taste incredible. And he never put his mouth here?" Killian sucked her, then set off an indescribably good sensation as he teased his rough tongue over her clit to demonstrate his meaning. Emma sighed and reached down to wind her fingers into his hair. She shook her head furiously. "Never. I swear it," she answered truthfully. Killian settled his cheek against her inner thigh again, and watched his coated finger slip in an out of her in silence for a moment. Her breathing picked up, and her sighs grew a bit more desperate.

"Emma, did you ever reach your pleasure with him?"

"No," she shuddered, tugging at his hair with one hand and anchoring herself to the rock with the other.

He licked her again. "Is it only me, then, Emma?"

Emma's eyes flew open and she stared straight into his eyes. "You fucking possessive bastard. You are just like him," she accused.

"Tell me, Emma." Another lick, a short suck. "Tell me." He added another finger and sped up, just a touch. "Did you want him?"

"Fuck, yes, I wanted him. Badly. I wanted him to do this. But only because he was you, and I wanted you to do this to me from the moment I climbed that damn beanstalk. And never anyone else, ever again."

That seemed to be the right answer. Killian lifted her legs over his shoulders and slid into her, only to discover that this position was now far too deep when Emma winced. He mumbled apologies and moved her legs wide around his hips, cushioning her lower back on one of his hands to hold her steady. "The bairn takes up more space," he smiled. She nodded, oblivious to his sudden attention to her bump and shamelessly consumed with chasing her own release, because he had slipped his thumb back into position between them and was hitting every nerve ending at once. He watched her as she writhed on the rock with her head thrown back and her throat bared, her breasts bouncing and arched towards him. The baby was a solid being between them now, completely undeniable. He took in every detail, Emma panting his name and rocking her hips into him. Her thighs began to shake, and her open mouth let loose a high-pitched cry. Killian let himself focus on his own pleasure. He reached down to suck one heaving breast into his mouth as he thrust erratically into her tightness. She clutched his head to her chest, begging him to suck harder and come for her. He knew he would leave a bruise around her nipple, and pulled harder to ensure it. When she deliberately tightened her muscles around his cock, he came wordlessly, and continued kissing every inch of skin he could reach.

They both breathed through their recovery, until he slipped out and crawled to lie beside her on the warm rock, nuzzling into her hair and neck while she cuddled him closer to her body. "I missed you, too," she soothed, stroking his head, satisfied and calm and warm. His hands were roaming her body still, taking in the changes.

When he finally raised his head, he pulled back a few inches to look her over critically. "You've been eating, at least," he said in approval. "Your hips are curvier and I can't feel your ribs so sharply. And your nipples are darker, even more erotic." He ran his tongue over one, just to check. She laughed in genuine happiness, still taking in the fact that they had defeated Merlin's curse and she really had him back. "You are glowing, you're stunning, the most beautiful thing in this or any realm," he said into her belly. "Your mother is bloody incredible, little one." He began nibbling at her, pulling her on top of him, and she could feel him growing hard again beneath her.

"Oh hell, babe, are we going another round?" she laughed. Emma wriggled free of his arms and kissed his face, neck, and down his chest and abdomen. She got onto her knees beside him and finally leaned down to lick him back to full hardness. He growled and wrapped her damp hair around his bruised hand to hold her steady. She lifted her head briefly. "On the rock?"

"I'm good with the rock," he bit out as she sucked lightly at the tip of him.

"It was a bit hard on my back."

"Come here, love," he helped her to her feet in the soft earth of the meadow, then refolded his jacket and her dress and placed them directly in front of her on the flat granite. "Feel free to bend over the rock…"

"Mmm, such a gentleman," she giggled, laying her head on her arms, her belly clear of the rock. "Will this do, Captain?" He stood back as though to give her new positioning some serious thought.

"That should do perfectly."

"Look at us," she held up an iridescent hand for his inspection. "Not a tree in sight and we're still glowing like candles."

Killian skated his hands over her arse and positioned himself behind her. "Glowing like beacons, at least it's broad daylight and shouldn't alert anyone to our whereabouts." He sank into her and lowered his forehead to her spine, thrusting slowly and not as deep as usual to avoid hurting her. He set a slow, careful pace.

"Harder, Killian. You won't hurt me, oh my god, that is so good. You feel so good," she exhaled.

He sped up, but didn't entirely follow her exhortations. She gasped and moaned for him to take her harder, faster, but he kept his pace steady. Sliding easily, lazily, he worked her up. Her muscles clenched around him, but he'd had one release and controlled his reactions. When she tried to rock her hips back onto him, he grasped her hips to hold her still. He fully intended to take his time and savour every sensation. The sun was gentle and warm on them, and the only sounds he could hear beyond her moans was the soft swish of grass in the breeze. Her body felt soft and pliant under his fingers. He stroked his hands down to her inner thighs, petting her patiently, then teased her legs further apart, leaving a calloused finger on her clit. He immediately sank in deeper, and they both sighed in gratification.

"I thought I might never see you again, my love. I thought my life was going to end, watching you live out your life with him. And here you are, gods, and you feel so soft and wet and perfect." Emma started to whimper as he stroked her deeply, igniting a spot that sent her to her heights. She loved listening to him as his talk veered between declarations of love and filthy descriptions of how her walls felt on his cock as he drove into her over and over.

He kept it up, pace steady as a metronome, until she cried out and spasmed around him. He bit off his own completion until he was sure he'd thrust through her own. Her body relaxed around his and her head lay heavily on her folded arms, exhausted. He pulled up on her spread thighs as he felt her lose strength, and Emma felt him stretching her open. She knew he wanted to let himself go, to find his own satisfaction. He pounded into her hard and deep for half a dozen thrusts, until she felt him stutter and fall behind her. With her body relaxed and quiet and satisfied, she could feel every pulse as he came.

Her legs shook slightly, so Killian pulled out. She felt the warmth of his seed tickling her thighs and somehow it made her giggle with unsuppressed delight. He turned her to face him and couldn't help but chuckle along with her. He lifted her onto the rock and then lay down beside her with the last of his strength.

"Bloody hell, love," he hugged her tighter, pressing her cheek into his chest, and she grabbed hold of the charms around his neck. She held them so tight in her fist that the chain dug into his neck. "I'm not going anywhere, Swan," he reassured her. But he was gripping her hard enough to bruise at the same time.

"Just in case," she muttered.

He brushed her hair back from her face. "Are you truly all right, Swan? Completely well?"

She nodded. "You took good care of me. Made sure I was comfortable and slept well, bought me anything I needed, fed me regular meals."

She squirmed level with his face, and they both lay on their sides with their faces on his jacket and their noses nearly touching, breathing each other in.

"How did it work? I can't have known you…"

"You knew the stones, and that made you think that maybe my insane story was true. And then… well, you love me. I think perhaps we were just… fated. To love each other. Because you really weren't terribly loveable," he let out a harsh guffaw at the understatement, "and you really didn't trust my magic, and my story was pretty outlandish." She gave him a soft kiss. "And god help me but I loved even that version of you. When you weren't insulting me or trying to hold me prisoner or threatening to gut me like a fish and throw me overboard."

Killian groaned and hid his face in her hair. "Tell me I didn't do that."

Emma gave him a small smile. "Only at the very beginning, and I did appear in the immediate aftermath of a terrible battle." She sobered and gazed at his wary eyes. "You killed, and I mean tore open, so many men. I was soaked in blood - not my own – and you were dripping with it. Your hook, your clothing." She closed her eyes to call back the memory. "I've seen what must be some of the worst of what you've done. And I still loved you. Completely." When she opened her eyes, Killian was avoiding her gaze, looking over her bare shoulder at the horizon. "I get this True Love thing a bit more now. It's not just meet and date for a while and fall in love gradually."

"More like unpicking a lock and opening a door that's always been there," he agreed.

"That would be your analogy, pirate." She laughed.

"Well, you make it sound like it was easy," he huffed. "It wasn't easy."

"It still isn't?"

"Our love is easy enough, aye, but it attracts people who want to rip it apart. Much like your parents experienced, actually. If True Love is magic, it's also power, and the likes of Merlin and the Crocodile want a piece of it. To bottle it or break it."

"Merlin said it would be like splitting the atom… that creates a powerful explosion."

"I know what an atom is, Swan, and I understand the nuclear implications of splitting one. Google, remember?" He tapped one finger where his hand still rested over the baby, eliciting another tiny kick in response. "And this one will be powerful. She will attract her own dangers."

Emma went silent, thinking. "She stopped a battle for you. When she sensed a blade come too close to you, she could hear your voice, she somehow knew you were in danger, or she saw it through my eyes. I don't know. But she froze everyone apart from us."

"A-ha. Well, what had distracted me from the fight, eh? Must have been something," he said meaningfully, gazing at her breasts. Emma looked away, a bit guilty.

Killian whistled. "Precisely as I thought, you were waving your luscious chest in my face when I should have been fighting." He rubbed a little circle over their daughter. "Thank you, little love. For saving your Da from his own lack of attention."

Snuggling back against his chest, Emma let the charms of his necklace play through her fingers. "We should find my parents," she mumbled against him, with no real enthusiasm for that course of action. "Let them know I'm back."

He patted her thigh. "Just one more round, my love, then we'll find the lot of 'em."

…

Regina watched in the hall of mirrors as Emma melted away from Hook, and the villa disappeared into the sand, and Hook splashed deep into the ocean beside his ship. As his crew scattered into action to save their captain, Regina snapped her fingers and the mirrors instantly reflected only her own triumphant image back at her. Her smile faltered for a moment, when she remembered Robin back in Storybrooke, waiting for her to return, but came back stronger when she realised that Emma and Hook had succeeded decisively in Merlin's cruel test.

The wizard walked stoically into the hall, scowling, but there was none of the yelling that she might have expected. He sat down in the dead centre of the room, beneath the canopy of mirrors.

"Look, Merlin, love conquers all. Don't you just love a happy ending?" Regina laughed.

"I see no more use for you," he snarled. Regina immediately armed herself in response. Merlin laughed bitterly. "I can't kill you, and I should think it obvious that if I could, I would have done so already. I wanted to see your face when I regained my powers, but I find you tedious company." He turned his head to give her a condescending glare. "And what makes you think this is any sort of happy ending? Do I seem like someone who gives up so easily?"

He waved a hand and Regina vanished. Alone now, Merlin lay flat on the elaborate wooden floor, briefly seeing himself and the interlocking, geometric pattern reflected in the ceiling. Then he clapped loudly, and the mirrors all projected images of Emma at every age, from birth, to her discovery on the side of the road, to a toddlerhood of indifferent families and right up to the present, in which she lay tangled on a rock with the pirate.

The promised explosion, the lure of freedom, was worth any price. He had failed once, but Emma's life provided any number of tragic moments of weakness. He just needed to pick the right one, the one from which True Love could never bloom. He waved his hand and the images shifted, a new moment in Emma's life appearing in the mirror above him with every flick of his wrist. All he had to do was choose.

 _ **Please let me know what you think.**_


	38. Chapter 38

**_Trigger warning: Discussion of attempted suicide. Please skip from the first … break … to the end of the chapter if you'd like to avoid the subject._**

The sun sank into the tall grass at the edge of the horizon, and the sky burned out in shades of indigo and pink, when Regina swayed as regally as possible into the hall at the centre of the village. She dusted herself down thoroughly, trying not to look as though she had been dropped into the dirt on the outskirts of town after Merlin poofed her out of his castle. Snow let out a little shriek and vaulted over a chair to reach Regina, and she clung to the queen with a fierceness and desperation that took Regina off guard.

Snow gripped Regina's shoulders and began shakily, "If you are here…" David sidled up behind his wife, putting his arms on her waist, in case the news meant that he needed to quite literally hold her up.

Regina's smile blew away all their doubts. "Emma's back. I watched in an enchanted mirror and saw her reappear with Killian. She was nearly frozen and gasping for air, but he kissed her and she recovered. I switched off the visuals after that, since none of us need to witness _exactly_ how happy they were to see each other."

David had dropped his head onto his wife's shoulder in relief. He felt the start of tears when he returned his attention to Regina. "When did she get back? Where are they?"

Regina waved vaguely out the door. "They're out in the grasslands somewhere nearish by. The sun was still pretty high when Merlin banished me from the castle…"

"What happened?" Snow demanded. "Just tell me what happened! Could you see her in the past? We didn't get much out of Killian; he was mainly swinging his sword at anyone who approached him."

"Hook gave her True Love's kiss after nearly a month of refusing to do so." Regina shook her head. "Seems like it took Hook's kiss on one end and Killian's on this side. That sadistic shit of a wizard wanted to make it doubly difficult for them."

David grinned. "See? I told Killian that he wouldn't be capable of saying no to Emma for long."

Mac and Will rushed in from the village's only main road, skittering to a halt beside Regina to listen to the news. Mac looked Regina over and handed her his canteen of water. She thanked him and drank greedily.

"Oh, Regina, I'm sorry, let's find you a warm drink," Snow enthused, nearly bouncing on her toes in her excitement. She looked at Will. "Might you get a tea for Regina?"

Will rolled his eyes. "As her majesty commands, I'll just fetch drinks for the royals while you all take discuss the news."

"What news of Killian and Emma?" Mac asked breathlessly. Snow threw her arms around Mac and laughed, reassuring him that they were both alive.

Almost as one, they all sank to the ground and melted with relief. All the tension of the last weeks seemed to drain out of everyone at once. Will returned with Regina's tea and knelt on the ground with them as she took a grateful sip.

"I still don't like it," Regina admitted. "Merlin is still alive and well, still trapped, still angry and still dangerous. He has to split them up in order to be free, and he will try again. I just don't know how."

"I know I'm not volunteering for the trip to his castle again," Emma announced from the doorway of the village hall. Killian stood next to her, grinning ear to ear and keeping her hand locked in his.

David vaulted over his wife and friends to get to his daughter. He went to sweep her into a bruising hug, which caused Emma to take an instinctive step behind Killian. "Careful, Dave," he laughed, a friendly but insistent hand on David's shoulder to hold him back, "Please don't crush my daughter in your haste to welcome yours home." With that, Killian stepped aside and David gathered Emma into a tearful embrace. Snow joined them. From his position to the side, Will noticed that when the family swayed to the right in their three-way hug, Killian's body shifted with them, and when they swayed back, he followed them to the left. Emma's hand was still clasped firmly in his behind her back. When her parents finally let her go, Emma stepped back into Killian, tightening her grip on his hand.

Mac had gathered chairs for everyone, and they all sat in a circle. Will pulled the charcoal brazier into the centre for them, heating some skewers of meat. He knew that Killian had not eaten much for weeks, and Regina looked exhausted and hungry. Emma, on the other hand, practically glowed with good health.

"Princess, it seems that your pirate past took good care of you. You're looking excellent well," Will smiled. Killian pulled a skewer off the fire and started eating, all without releasing Emma's hand. "Careful there, girl, or pirate present will gnaw your arm off. He's not had a bite in days."

Emma's face drew down, and she looked worriedly at Killian, who merely shrugged and accepted the mug of ale that Mac was offering. She had had plenty of time to notice how thin he was this afternoon, and he'd told her about the headaches. "Don't fret, love," he squeezed her hand. "I'm eating now, see? I'll be fine."

David, Mac and Snow listened as Emma explained some of what had happened over the last few weeks. She had already told most of it to Killian, who ate nonstop through her story whenever Mac and Snow brought out more food. David then explained the situation in the village: the villagers were under Merlin's control somehow. One or more of them must visit the castle to carry out Merlin's instructions and cast his enchantments, but Regina said she had seen no sign of visitors while she was there.

"I am so sick of being under attack," Snow sighed. She saw Regina shift uncomfortably in the chair next to her, and she reached out to grasp her hand. "Regina, I know you started the attacks on us, back before Emma was born, but I cannot thank you enough for doing everything to keep her safe now."

"Aye, your majesty," Killian added, his hands stroking Emma's belly almost unconsciously. Regina could not place the moment it had happened, but Emma now sat securely on his lap rather than in her chair. "Any information you have gathered on the wizard will help."

"Help what, exactly?" Emma twisted in his lap to look him in the eyes. "What are you planning to do?"

Killian's eyes flashed briefly. "You will not deny me this, love. I'm not looking for another way."

Regina rushed back in before Emma could start an argument. "How, Captain? How do you plan to kill a wizard you can't get to?"

Killian smiled and toyed with the ends of Emma's hair. He scanned his eyes around the large, empty hall. He waved his hand to the door. "Anyone could be listening, and mirrors are never far away. Enough to say that whatever Merlin does next, I intend to use it to end him."

Emma and Snow both started in at once about how vital it was to find another way to defeat Merlin, short of killing him. Before they could advance the argument, David interrupted with a steady, certain voice: "We should kill Merlin."

Mac gave a curt nod and looked at Emma and Snow with sincere, Jones-blue eyes. "I agree as well. As long as that man breathes, Emma, Killian and their child will not be safe."

Snow and Emma swept their gazes across the three men. Will advanced no opinion either way, and Regina gave them a shrug that indicated that she also favoured killing Merlin. Snow rose from her seat and brushed off her gown with more care and attention than required. Her nerves steadied, she walked round the brazier and past Emma, patting her daughter's shoulder as she went, and continued out the door of the hall and into the night. David took a steadying breath, glanced quickly at Killian, and then followed his wife.

"Emma," Killian attempted a pre-emptory note of conciliation, "I do see your point, love, and I adore this about you, that you always want to avoid killing…"

"But you want him dead." Emma nodded, staring down at the empty spot on her left ring finger, the space that Hook couldn't believe he hadn't claimed. I don't own him, and he doesn't own me, she thought. We are allowed to differ, even in this.

"I do not desire his death out of vengeance or bloodlust, Emma. I simply won't feel that the baby and you are safe, until he is dead. He has people beyond his castle walls under his control. He has already proven that he can reach us anywhere, send us anywhere. Any time."

Emma stood abruptly, eyes downcast, now taking in his scuffed, dusty boots. Boots for walking long distances either after her or for her, for riding a horse, for leaving his ship behind and turning his back on his home and his family to return her… where? Some cursed town created by an evil queen?

She pressed her left hand to his chest, over his heart. "You owe me nothing else, Killian." She looked up and met his surprised and sceptical gaze. "How many times over have you proved you'd do anything for me? I believe you. I believe in you. And if you, and Mac, and David, and Regina, all think that this is the right course of action, then we end him." She pulled him closer. "We kill him."

Killian nodded. "So we shall, love." He kissed her.

Will sat back in one of the chairs, watching the pair with an unblinking gaze. They had stayed in some sort of physical contact since they walked into the hall. By now they were about as close as two people could be without needing a private room. Will knew trauma when he saw it, and these two, despite the bantering and strategising, were terrified. He'd seen Emma follow her mother's movement out the door with her eyes, and even though she clearly wanted to follow, she could not lift herself off Killian's lap. He knew, watching them, that they were simply getting in as much time together as they could before Merlin made plain his next attempt to drive them apart. It was heartbreaking.

Mac offered Emma a cup of tea, but he stood too far from her; she would have to let go of Killian in order to take the mug. She began to shake her head, not wanting to explain herself, when Will stood, took the cup from Mac's hands and walked to the few metres to deliver it to her. She smiled gratefully and then looked into the warm liquid, embarrassed. Will knew.

"What will you do, Emma, when we've killed that fucker?" Will asked, to change the subject somewhat. He had lost sight of the endgame some time back. He had what he craved in the Enchanted Forest: Belle. With Rumpelstiltskin a whole realm away, Will was in no rush to return.

Snow and David returned silently, hand in hand, and slipped into the circle in time to hear Emma struggle for an answer. Killian nudged her. "I swore I'd get you back to Storybrooke, love, and I shall. I know it's taking a while…" he sighed, and shrugged. "But that's what we've been struggling for, isn't it? To get you home."

Emma tilted her head and looked at him, then at Mac, Regina, Will and her parents. Storybrooke had not been home to her for long. The only member of their circle really from Storybrooke in any real way was Henry, as he had lived his entire known life there. "Home," she repeated, nodded. "That's quite the thought, isn't it? Where's home? I couldn't point to a town I'd call home. Never had one growing up," she glanced apologetically at Snow and David, who winced. "I suppose you have the Jolly Roger, and Mom and Dad – you have a whole castle. So do you, Regina. Mac belongs in Cath Harbour with Oona and his brothers and family. I guess it's just you and me, Will, with no particular place to be."

Killian frowned and turned her face to his. He spoke quietly, just to her. "Don't you want to go back to Storybrooke, love? It's the realm you know, cell phones and showers and coffee and modern medicine."

"The only home I care about is you and Henry, and Mom and Dad, and my friends. And I don't know if they want to live the rest of their lives in a town they only came to against their will, as part of a curse." She dropped her forehead against Killian's. "Wouldn't you rather live here, with your ship and your family?"

Killian had never been one to lie to himself. He had known after the night of the massacre, when his entire family had flocked to protect them without question or complaint, that he had arrived at home for the first time in his life. He only regretted that Liam had never seen it. The Jolly would always be a special place for him, but that house on Cath Harbour's market square felt … he didn't have anything to compare it to.

"I will live wherever you are, Emma, and I will do so willingly," he answered truthfully. "Of course this realm feels more like home to me, but I've never valued the Enchanted Forest and you know that. I've sailed away from it often enough when it suited me."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Okay, but if you took me out of the equation…"

"I can't."

"But assuming I'd go anywhere with you - because I would - would you honestly choose Storybrooke over the Enchanted Forest?"

He heard Snow and David stop breathing. They had wanted to return to their kingdom ever since the curse broke. Killian stopped to consider his answer, and Emma pushed her elbow playfully into his ribs. "Just answer, Killian. You're trying to consider every angle from my point of view. Stop it. Just tell me yours."

"Finding family here has changed my mind about this place. I would settle our family with theirs, as a first choice, if I could. In New York we would be alone, and our daughter would never know of her magic. In Storybrooke we would be isolated. It is not a place with a future, long term."

Killian braced himself, ready for Emma's reaction, but she beamed at him, the most heartwarming, genuine smile he could imagine. "Long term," she grinned. "I like the sound of long term."

Mac spoke to Killian hesitantly, keeping one eye on the King and Queen, "You are always welcome with us, you know that. For as long as you need. Henry and the baby, too, of course."

Snow, who had been silently cheering Killian's decision, sobered at once: "Cath Harbour is a long way from the castle…" she began.

"Not a whole realm away, though," Regina put in. "Killian's right, we can't expect to build a future for our children in a cursed town with limited interaction with the outside world."

David stood up and began to gather plates and mugs from around the fire. "There's no point in discussing this further tonight," he said with an authority that reminded Emma he was a king. "We all need to focus on stopping Merlin before he finds another way to drive Killian and Emma apart."

Killian already felt his eyes closing involuntarily, with the warm fire before him and Emma snuggled close and weeks of little sleep behind him. He stood as well, and Emma automatically rose with him. "I dragged your bed rolls over there," Will pointed toward the darkened end of the warehouse, a spot that would afford them a bit of privacy but keep them near enough for watching over.

Will would watch over them tonight, he vowed silently. Let them sleep, or screw, or whatever they needed to do, but he would try to keep them safe, try to stop Merlin's plan.

…

Killian waited until everyone else had fallen asleep. Apart from Will. Killian could hear Will's irregular breaths, and a quick look across the 10 metres of open space to his bedroll revealed his friend's fist wrapped around the hilt of a sword. He sat up in bed and nodded to Will, whose unblinking eyes were scanning the dark hall. Will nodded back, and silently returned to his watch.

Stroking down her face and arm, Killian slowly brought Emma up out of her sleep. She squinted at him, suddenly awake and afraid, but he smiled at her fondly.

"If you're waking me for sex," she yawned, "we're going to have words. Was three times not enough for you? I'm sore, Killian, and…"

"Emma, for godssake, I would not wake my exhausted, pregnant wife for sex," he retorted in disgust. "And no, the three times was not enough, but I would still never do that. Bloody hell."

Emma had pushed herself up onto an elbow by now, facing him as he sat cross-legged on his bedroll. The temperature had dropped in the night, and she felt him arranging another blanket around her shoulders as she sat up to face him. When he had her bundled up warm, he linked his fingers through hers and rested them across his lap.

"He's coming for me, love," Killian whispered. "We need to talk. Or rather, you need to talk."

Emma considered him in the faint light. "I know." She sighed and squeezed his hands. "I have to tell it all to you."

"He could have sent you to any one of a hundred moments in my past, but he chose a bloody battle. I probably killed more men in that month than I had in the 100 years previous. He looked carefully for a time most likely to shock you, when I was my most merciless self. If I wanted to break us up, to make you believe me to be a monster, that's the moment I would have chosen, too."

"He's going to send you back, isn't he? Into my past."

"Likely yes. And you need to tell me when."

Emma stared down at their hands in thought. "I've never been… so dark… not the way you were, Killian." She reached up to caress his face, to reassure him that she knew that's not who he was anymore. "I was treated pretty badly for most of my childhood, and I just thought I deserved it. So all my darkness was turned in on myself."

"When, Emma."

Her breath shuddered with withheld tears. "When I was released from prison. I had given birth to Henry six weeks before they let me out. I had nothing. No money, no education, no job prospects, no friends and no family. My boyfriend had betrayed me and I had given away my own child. All I had was the Bug. And even in Arizona, it was fucking cold at night. Do you know what post-partum depression is?"

Killian shook his head. He didn't want to interrupt her story. "Sometimes women can fall into a depression, after a birth, not just sad, but something you need medical help with. I didn't need much of a push. So I tried for a few days – tried living, I mean. I siphoned gasoline in carparks at night and stole food from behind shops and restaurants." Killian steeled himself – he knew that if he shed even a single tear, or pulled her into his arms, she wouldn't be able to continue. He rubbed his thumbs across her knuckles, and remained silent.

"But one night, less than a week after my release, I was in a carpark in New Mexico facing another cold night, and I hadn't had much luck with food. But I had these bottles of anti-depressants that the doctor in prison had given to me, because he was worried that I might get this post-partum depression thing. Maybe I did, who knows, maybe my life just sucked and that's depressing. He also gave me some drugs to help me sleep. So I had these two bottles of pills." Killian closed his eyes. He knew where the story was going, but let her keep talking.

"The carpark – it was a diner, nothing special, but nothing I could afford, either. But it had these big windows, and everyone inside was chatting, smiling, and they all looked so warm and happy. And the distance between them and me just seemed…" Emma sighed. "I thought I'd never make it from where I was to where they were. So I took all the pills, every last one."

Killian cracked and tugged her towards his lap, but Emma put out her arm against his shoulder and maintained their distance. "A woman came out, not long after. She was parked next to me, and saw me passed out. She rang an ambulance. They carried me into the diner to keep me warm. One of the people in there was a doctor… anyway, they saved me. I didn't have any money to pay for an ambulance or a doctor or anything, so once they'd stabilised me in the ER of the nearest public hospital, they kept me just long enough to make sure I'd survive, and let me go." She shrugged. "I was out of pills, so I just decided I had to live. I found a job in a diner – one had saved my life, so I guess I felt it was the way to go – and lived in the Bug until I could afford a room. Anytime in there, honestly, I was a mess. I have no idea how I held down that job. The thought of you trying to get True Love's Kiss out of me… it's pretty unthinkable, Killian."

Emma dropped her arm and let Killian pull her into him. "I know it's no good, me holding you now. I can't help you then," he murmured into her hair. "Thank you for telling me."

She breathed in his scent as he readjusted the blankets around her, as though he could warm up her 18-year-old self with enough wool. He was rocking her a bit for good measure. How lucky am I, she thought, to have found this man. She should have known that Killian would read her thoughts, "You're not lucky, you're tough. That's how you survived. It's still how you survive."

Emma smiled against his chest. "Now I survive because you're tough, too. And so are all my friends and family." Emma wrapped her arms around his torso. "But that's the moment, Killian. He'll send you there. I would."

…

Killian eventually rocked Emma back into slumber, and tucked her back into her bedroll. He checked again to make sure that the vials of potion Regina had prepared for him were safe away inside his coat pocket. When Will came over to check on him, Killian was fixing a dagger into his boot.

"Will, do you have any dollars? If I get sent to the past, I won't be able to use my credit card, and I won't have a bank account there yet."

Will dug through his pockets and satchel and come up with 17 dollars and change. The two thieves smiled at each other, and quietly lifted every cent they could find from Regina, David and Snow. Regina, in particular, proved well-funded, but even totalling everything they all had, Killian had just over 200 dollars.

Will gave him a good-natured shove in the shoulder. "You can take what you need when you arrive. Stealing's stealing and marks are marks, no matter the realm."

Killian laughed, too low to wake the others. "True enough." He looked over his shoulder just the same, to make certain that Emma still slept, then he turned back to Will in the darkness. "Promise me, Will…"

Will interrupted him in a low, sad voice, "Killian, you don't need to ask that of me. We will all protect her with our lives, every last one of us."

"If I can't come back, if I can't make her love me…"

Will threw his head back and laughed out loud, Killian watching him with a glare until Will calmed enough to speak. "You blind sod, Killian, that woman loves you, completely and totally. Her eyes wander after you every time you leave a room, and she sort of shifts around uncomfortably until you return. It's like she can't help herself, cuz fuck knows you're not the best she could do." Will leaned over and patted Killian on the arm. "She will love you, but neither of you will have magic, and we can't know how that will change your path back."

Killian tipped his head to the side and turned Will's words over in his mind. "Maybe, maybe not. I've seen Emma use magic in The Land Without, and I've seen my father do the same." A sudden smile lit his face. He reached across Emma's body, smoothing the blanket and stroking her hair when she stirred. As soon as her breathing settled again, he felt behind her neck for the clasp of her necklace and gently lifted it free of the blankets. "But just in case," he whispered, slipping the gems into this pocket, "I'll take along a little evidence."

…

The young girl crept in through the blackened doorway. The light from the brazier had long since died out, pitching the hall into an impenetrable darkness. The outsiders were stretched out on bedrolls strategically placed across the large room, but the little girl couldn't see the two she'd been asked to locate. Finally, she recognised them. Just as Merlin had told her, the two had set their bedrolls practically atop one another. The princess slept with her head tucked into the pirate's chest, and he slept with his arms loosely slung around her, one hand anchored in her hair, where it tangled over her back.

As the girl tiptoed towards her sleeping targets, she clutched the vial of powder that the wizard had tucked into her pocket. She had practised opening and closing the cork stopper to avoid problems.

She crouched before the man, watching him sleep, and she silently apologised. She had no idea what this powder would do to them, and the pretty princess looked so happy, cuddled up to the man. But the man was bad, Merlin had explained to her, and the princess had to be saved.

She dipped her hand back into her pocket and pulled out the vial. The powder was black and dusty and dull. Merlin had warned her not to breathe in any of it. She readied herself to take a deep breath and pop the stopper.

A hand short out from beneath the heavy blanket in front of her, and a strong hand covered in thick, silver rings gripped her leg. The pirate had both eyes open and he was taking her measure. She let out a surprised gasp and a little whimper from the pain and shock. His grip tightened in response, and he called out.

"Will! Mac! Regina!" his words rang through the space and reverberated off the ceiling and walls.

Merlin had warned her that the man might attack. She wasted no time, glad she had practised removing the cork so that she didn't forget. Quick as the lightning that flashed outside the doorway, she spilled some of the powder into her left hand, and she blew it ever so gently across the pirate and the sleeping princess.

The pirate tried to shield the princess from the powder, but the girl knew it was too pointless. Already, the strong hand on her leg began to weaken. His eyes narrowed as he tried to retain his focus on her, but the girl could see him slipping away. The princess was already under, the slowing of her breath and the disappearance of her smile convinced the girl that she had succeeded.

The girl could hear others waking, the clank of swords and knives as they came for her. She quickly placed her hands over the pirate and chanted the words that Merlin had made her recite over and over until she could do it without hesitation. When she finished the spell, sprinkled some dust from a second bottle over his unconscious body.

"I'm sorry, captain," she whispered to the pirate as the powder pulled him away. "I didn't have a choice." She plugged the half-empty vial with the cork and tucked in into her tunic. Someone caught her and held her aloft, while a woman was screaming, "Emma!" The little girl didn't understand. She hadn't hurt the princess. She would never do that. The princess still lay on her bedroll, asleep and safe and alone, now that the pirate was gone.


	39. Chapter 39

"Oh, get a room, that's disgusting."

Killian's eyes focussed just in time to see a woman in a heavy wool coat unlocking the driver's side door of a red pickup truck and staring in frank distaste at the scene inside the car in the next space over. He narrowed his eyes to bring her into sharper focus. She was shaking her head as she pulled the seatbelt across herself and started the truck's rattling engine. He raised his head to look around himself; somehow, he had expected to find Emma in the driver's seat, as he had always seen her, but he found her instead curled in upon herself in the narrow backseat. A tumble of long, blond hair obscured her face, but the two empty pill bottles in the footwell behind the driver's seat were clear enough.

Killian blinked up and saw a run-down little diner across a small parking lot, the lights through the enormous windows illuminating the interior of the Bug.

According to Emma's telling, a woman had seen Emma passed out in the car and mobilised the whole diner into action. So, he reckoned, a woman stretched across the backseat unconscious and alone inspired pity and assistance. Apparently, however, a woman stretched out across the backseat unconscious and in the company of a man was a woman to be judged and scorned. He had been in Emma's life for less than 5 minutes, and already he had ruined her reputation.

As the truck pulled out of its space, Killian felt the air leave his lungs. That woman was supposed to save Emma, and she was gone, irretrievable. He scrambled his arms through the gap between the front seats – "Emma! Love, wake up." – then pressed his forehead into the headrest of the passenger seat in order to think things through. Not Emma, he didn't know her, she didn't know him, and certainly not love.

Emma had told him that a doctor in the diner had helped her. He wrenched open the passenger door and throttled the passenger seat until it slumped against the dash. He tucked the two bottles into his coat pocket and wedged Emma carefully out of the backseat and into his arms. He saw an old canvas rucksack beneath her feet and grabbed that, too. Maybe Emma had a wallet or id and then he could legitimately know her name.

He carried her at a run and kicked open the door of the diner, calling for help. A waitress not much older than Henry helped him settle her on a long, low wooden bench in the entranceway. She shouted, far more effectively, for help, while a middle-aged man in a cook's apron appeared in a kitchen doorway. He picked up a phone on the counter near the till and rang for an ambulance. The doctor appeared from a booth, as Emma had related, a grandfatherly type who took her pulse and asked Killian questions that he shouldn't really know the answer to. Killian handed over the two bottles of pills and the doctor whistled low. "You are a quick thinker, son. Did you see her take these?" Killian shook his head.

"Is she going to die?" he asked on a rushed exhale.

The doctor shrugged. "Touch and go. Depends how long before you found her, and I guess we won't know that unless she wakes up. The ambulance is on its way. Do you know her, son?"

Killian shook his head again, more decisively this time, and tried to look less horrified and heartstricken than he felt. "This bag is hers, though. I thought it might have some id." He dug through the front pocket and found a two dollar bills, loose change that didn't amount to a full dollar and a driver's license for Emma Swan, aged 18.

The doctor gave him an appraising look. "You a detective or something? You got an eye for evidence. The police will be pleased as punch to have someone so observant to talk to."

Not a detective, no, Killian explained. A sailor. The doctor had just voiced the question about what a sailor was doing so far from the sea, when the ambulance pulled up. Killian was trying to think of an excuse to follow her into the ambulance when the elderly doctor pushed him toward the paramedics. "Take this guy with you," he said. "He found her, and the police will want to hear what he has to say." They had Emma strapped onto a gurney and were pushing her out the door, shouting at Killian to move it, get in, come on now. He clutched Emma's bag to his chest and obeyed, slipping onto a jump seat at the far end of the ambulance. A paramedic had already attached an oxygen mask and was taking her pulse and blood pressure. He was shouting information into a sort of microphone attached to a box, and Killian briefly wondered why he didn't use a cell. He rifled through Emma's bag again, looking for a cell phone, as he'd never seen her without one. Nothing.

Once inside, Emma was taken one way towards a waiting medical team, while Killian was pulled the other, towards a waiting man with a badge. He grimaced inwardly, thinking of Emma's own badge. It took little time to explain that he had seen her through the Bug's window, saw the bottle of pills, and rushed her into the diner for help. It took a bit longer to explain the lack of his own vehicle and identification, but the sheriff's deputy seemed satisfied enough to let Killian leave, then impressed when he insisted on staying "just to see if the lass pulls through." The deputy led him down a short, blank hallway to a bank of four beds, each curtained off from the other by a flimsy length of dull, blue fabric. Killian thanked the deputy and stood awkwardly to one side. He scanned the hallway for any sort of female presence; he needed information and he knew a tried and tested way to get it. A young nurse emerged from Emma's bedside and pulled up sharply in front of him, nearly tripping over his boots. He shot out his hand to steady her, and smiled with full effect into her startled face.

"How's the young lass doing?" he asked.

The nurse smoothed her pink cotton tunic and smiled at him. "You her boyfriend or something?"

"No, nothing like that. I just found her in the parking lot of a diner, and I wanted to make sure… I don't know… just want to know that she's okay."

The nurse reached out a sympathetic hand and patted his arm. "She's not… no. She took a lot of sedatives – we've pumped her stomach but if enough has already made it into her bloodstream… listen, I'm really sorry. I'm afraid I can't say much more, not unless you're a relative. But you are welcome to wait anyway… there's some chairs over there." She nodded towards some nondescript, plastic chairs in the hallway. "We're just watching her at the moment."

Killian gripped her hand and ran his thumb just so over the nurse's knuckles. "Thank you so much. I know it must seem silly, but I feel almost responsible for her now."

The nurse gifted him with a shy smile and squeezed his hand in return. "I'll let you know straight away if anything changes." She made it to the end of the hallway and, just before rounding the corner, she smiled back at him. Killian gave a friendly wave in return, and she grinned and scurried off. His smile immediately faded.

He slipped around the curtain and found her pale and still against the clinical blue sheets of the bed. A machine beeped slow and low, and he knew enough about these situations to recognise the heartbeat as sluggish and uneven. For 10 minutes he stood stockstill and silent, watching this young, forsaken girl struggle to breathe before he finally collapsed to his knees next to the bed and rested his forehead at her hip. Merlin might already have killed her, just by introducing him into the timeline and botching her rescue. Had he caused a delay? A deadly one? He gripped the sheets and chanted prayers to every god he'd ever encountered, barely audible.

Killian heard the curtain shift open behind him. He could see a giggling, young nurse through the opening. She was gazing, starstruck, at something or someone, and was rebuttoning her blouse. Killian turned back to Emma, angry at the intrusion, when shoes clacked to a halt next to him. He considered getting to his feet, trying to cover up his tears, which would seem strange in a passer-by who had only happened on this girl by accident. As he rose, he took in the shined black shoes and pressed black trousers, and followed the line all the way up to the starched black shirt and stiff white collar. A priest, o gods, it must be bad, they've sent a priest.

"Son," the priest said in a distinctive lilt, "son, have a little faith in your old da, yeah?" Killian startled back a step and Davy Jones gave him a sad smile. "I'v.e passed myself off as a doctor - we only have half an hour until that nurse goes off duty and these people start asking questions.

"There, my boy, don't you worry yourself now. I said I would protect her, and I will. But you need to play your part, son, or these paper pushers will start with the questions that have no logical answers. Okay?" Killian nodded. Davy patted his shoulder fondly and turned to Emma, raising his hands over her. A white light seemed to pull from her heart and into Davy's palm, and Killian felt the familiar warmth of Emma's magic settle over her. Davy coaxed it from her and then reflected it back into her body.

The machine beeped strong and steady now, and the numbers showing her blood pressure and heartrate adjusted themselves upwards as Davy took his hands away. Davy stroked his hand over Emma's forehead and hair and pressed a kiss onto her cheek.

"Thank you, da," Killian murmured, too nervous of being caught touching an unconscious 18-year-old to move any closer. But he gripped his father's hand and held tight.

"She'll love you, son, just as she always has. Just give her a bit of time. And know that I love you," Davy whispered back. Then he turned on his heel and disappeared around the curtain. Killian smothered his relief and went back to the plastic chairs, to wait for the doctors to discover another of Emma Swan's miraculous medical recoveries.

….

Emma had not been exaggerating when she told him they did not keep her in hospital for long. Once the doctor on duty pronounced her fit to stand unaided, he saw them pressing discharge papers into her hands and blithely suggesting that she access the local mental health charities. Emma looked stunned, frightened and tired, and nothing whatsoever like the fierce, sharp woman he fell in love with a decade later.

He waited for her at the front door of the ER, and the nurse – still charmed from last night - introduced him to Emma. The introduction seemed to smooth the way, and Emma accepted the nurse's story about the concerned bystander who had rescued her.

"I can take you back to your car," Killian offered, then reached into his jacket pocked, "here, I kept the keys."

Emma snatched the keys from his hand and huffed. He sensed that was all the thanks she would consider giving. She clutched her rucksack tight to her chest and shifted her eyes this way and that.

"I don't need your help," she announced archly, and made to march through the hospital doors, then seemed to remember that she did not know how to get from the hospital back to her car.

"No, of course you don't," Killian responded calmly. "But my car is in that parking lot too, so I thought it made sense for us to share a taxi back to the diner."

Emma shrugged at this, but followed him to the taxi. She eyed him with a bravado that spoke volumes about her underlying fragility, and if it was possible for Killian's heart to shatter into even more pieces, it might have when he noticed her wobble unsteadily on the short walk to the taxi's door.

The driver called back a rough 'Where to?', and Killian made an impulsive decision.

"There a decent motel around here?" he ventured.

Emma's eyes opened at that, wide, affronted and aggressive. "What the hell? Have you been waiting all night so that you could take me to a motel room? You are sick, oh my god."

Killian cut her off mid-rant. "You're in no condition to drive, lass, and I haven't had much sleep myself. I am going to get us each our own room, nowhere near each other if that makes you feel better. But I am not sending you back to sleep in your freezing cold car after that very situation saw you downing a bottle of sedatives."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "You stay the fuck out of my business."

Killian bit back a sigh. He had forgotten how bonedeep exhausting it was managing Emma's walls. Emma in love, he briefly mused, was a creature entirely different to this Emma, who combined the scattershot temper and confident suspicion of the version he'd met on the beanstalk, with the vulnerability of an abused child.

"Aye, I'll stay out of your business the moment I'm convinced it won't land you straight back in hospital," he responded in his tried-and-true Speaking Reasonably to Emma tone. Emma might listen to reason, but not if it was presented to her wrapped in sympathy or pity.

"Why do you care?" she asked, genuinely puzzled and still angry. "I am no one to you."

Killian paused for a moment, trying to think how to explain away his concern. "I feel responsible. I feel like I forced life on you when you had made a different decision, and now I just need to see you make a start. Sleep. Food." He threw his hands out in a gesture of blamelessness.

Emma started to argue that she was just fine, when the taxi driver turned around. "Listen, girl, I don't know anything about you or him, but he's right… you look like death. I'd take him up on the room for the night and catch some z's." The driver turned back to face the road. "Just sayin'."

Fortunately for Killian, she chose to direct all her wrath at the meddling driver, because Killian would not have been able to cover his shock when he recognised the driver as Jonathan. He couldn't help a small, inward smile, and he realised that he needed to make his peace with his father. Emma had been right about him.

Jonathan pulled up at a Travelodge. Killian considered arguing for a better hotel, but remembered in a rush that he had limited funds. He counted out some of Regina's money to pay Jonathan, who was watching to make sure Emma's attention was elsewhere. As she steadied herself near the trunk of the taxi, Jonathan grabbed Killian's left hand and stuffed a fat wad of bills into this right.

"Your father does not want you to risk arrest with thievery. We will keep you supplied with the money that you need."

Killian nodded and chased after the still-wobbly Emma as she made her way to the reception desk. He tamped down his instinct to slip his arm around her and let her lean on him. She reached the desk first and loudly and directly explained to the clerk that she was worried about the man behind her and wanted to make sure their rooms were nowhere close. After Killian produced the cash to pay the bill, Emma took her key and stomped swayed unsteadily off towards a room. Killian grabbed his own key and rushed after her.

"Lass, please," he offered his arm. "You are never going to make it up the stairs to the third floor unaided."

She pulled her body to the side, attempting to put more distance between her left arm and his offered right. He couldn't help rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Without magical intervention, trying to get Emma to warm to him might take a decade. "Stop following me, you pervert," she snapped, taking the stairs two at a time. She managed half a flight before she stumbled backwards into his waiting grasp.

"Lass, _please_ ," he repeated. "I swear to you that I only want to help. I know you have no reason to believe me and good reasons not to trust anyone, but you need help right now, just temporarily, and as the fates would have it, I'm the only one around to offer it." He righted her on the stairs and removed his hands from her.

"Don't. Touch. Me," she growled.

Killian stepped down one stair. "May I at least follow to see you safely into your room?" he asked.

She glared at him. "Follow at a distance," she said guardedly, then sighed. "I do feel a little faint."

Killian nodded his agreement to her terms, and followed a couple of paces behind. They climbed slowly to the top of the stairwell, and he could see her losing focus and pace with every step. At the door of her room, she tried twice to open the lock without success. Killian finally lifted the key from her fingers and sidled up to release the lock and push the door open with his shoulder. The movement placed him just over the threshold. She set down her rucksack on the bed, and he crossed to the phone.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a panic.

"Ordering pizza," he responded. "What would you like?" He tossed her the menu from a binder next to the phone. He knew exactly what she liked, but waited patiently for her to throw the menu back at him. "Just let me make this call, and I will leave your room."

Emma sat down on the bed and Killian finally had an opportunity to look her over. She looked so young, all big eyes and gawky glasses and knees and elbows. Even six weeks after giving birth, she appeared too thin and somewhat gangly. "Pepperoni," she said sullenly.

When he had placed the order, he scribbled his room number on the hotel notepad next to the phone, the cheap pen barely equal to the job of scratching out three digits and his name. He tapped the notepad with his pen and bid her good night, adding that she should call him if she felt unwell or needed anything.

Emma had seemed to be ignoring him, but she suddenly looked up, taking him in and forming her judgements. She almost seemed to soften just a mite. "Thank you," she finally said. "Thank you for all of this, for helping me."

"Anytime, lass," he smiled softly, and left her room, closing the door with a gentle click. He made his way through the corridor, past the bland, corporate paintings on the stark walls, until he came to his own door. He unlocked his door and let the blandness wash over him. But he'd only just managed to shed his jacket and toe off his shoes when he noticed his father lounging incongruously on an oak veneer table, his chic black suit clashing riotously with the chintz curtains and floral comforter behind him.

Jones smoothed his tie and tried not to look to important for the room. His only surviving child stood before him, looking utterly exhausted and close to emotional and physical collapse. "Son," he took half a step forward, "you need to sleep. How long has it been?"

Killian shrugged and sank onto the edge of the too-soft mattress. He mumbled that he needed to stay awake, or Emma would try to run.

"Jonathan is watching her door, ready to coax her back if she tries to escape," his father soothed. "Lay down for a bit. I promise to watch over her for you. I love her, too, you know – and she's carrying my only grandchild. I would never let any harm come to Emma."

His father's voice droned on in comforting cadence, and Killian began listing to the right. He was unconscious quite literally before his head hit the pillow, for when he tried to recall it later, he could not remember how he made it into bed and under the covers. The only explanation, more unbelievable than magic, was that his father had tucked him in.

…

When she finally fell asleep, after a long bath and three quarters of a large pepperoni pizza, Emma dreamed of pirates. The pirates chatted to her, all polite and deferential, as they tended the pirate ship with its masts and sails that billowed across an unbroken sky. The smell overwhelmed every other sense: salt, yes, but also leather, and dirt, and fish, stale water and, unmistakably, blood. Even in her dream, Emma's nose wrinkled against the onslaught. The men all seemed old-fashioned in their speech and manners, the ship like something out a children's storybook, with its bright paint and wood planking and intricately carved detailing. Emma had never seen anything so well-crafted; yet, she had, she was sure.

She followed the pirate captain down to his quarters. He was hers. She could make out the back of his dark head, the rings on his hand, the pull of his long, leather coat over his shoulders. He gripped her hips and lifted her down the final steps to his cabin. She knew without turning to see that the bed was tucked into a corner, piled with woollen blankets and pillows, that the walls were lined with books. He moved behind her, laid her across the great, solid desk. He moved his hand beneath her skirts, because she was quite certain that she was wearing a dress, heavy and long and fine. He didn't speak to her, just lowered her panties slowly to the floor and settled the hem of her dress somewhere above her hips. She was panting, both in the dream and out of it, but in the dream he had one hand between her legs, and then she could feel him moving, really feel him against her, within her.

Emma startled awake. And she could still feel him, feel the aftermath of him, like an aching soreness and wrung-out satisfaction. She had never experienced sex like that, so how could she dream something so real? Sex was no longer Emma dreamed of; not after… not any more. But here she was breathing fast and filled with longing. She hadn't kissed the pirate, though she'd meant to, and she couldn't bring his face to mind, or his voice. Just a hint of his smile, simultaneously overconfident and caring. She had wanted him, more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, and Emma had wanted for plenty. She was expert at want.

She fumbled to release herself from the heavy motel comforter and found the clock: 9.45am. A pirate? What the fuck. She had slept for more than 12 hours, which must explain the dreaming, or perhaps it was a side effect of the pills she'd taken. Either way, she decided to lift herself out of bed and take advantage of the hot shower. Who knew when another chance for warm water would present itself?

She rose to her feet, feeling stronger and steadier than the day before. The shrill ring of the phone jolted her right off her feet, a little squeak of shock escaping her. She picked it up nervously.

"Emma?" The accent. She had noticed the accent yesterday. She had no idea where it was from, but it made his voice instantly recognisable.

"Umm. Yes."

"How are you, lass? Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough," she answered cautiously.

She could almost hear him smile at this. "That's good news. I wondered if you might consent to breakfast. There's a diner attached to the motel." Emma had walked the few steps to the window and opened the blackout curtains. She could see the yellow of a Denny's sign.

"So there is."

She listened to the stillness on the line. He didn't even seem to be breathing.

"Emma, I am not trying to take advantage of you. It is breakfast, in a public place, with witnesses."

"I'm taking a shower first," she said. "I can meet you down there in half an hour." Then she hung up.

Why was she agreeing to this? The man's attention to her was creepy. What kind of person paid a motel room for a complete stranger? Serial killers, that's who. But she was full of excuses this morning: he seemed harmless enough ("He seemed so nice," she could hear witnesses saying to the television cameras), and nothing too bad was likely to happen over pancakes and eggs, and … pancakes and eggs. She was, at base, hungry. She would have breakfast, they would take a taxi back to the parking lot to pick up their cars, and then … well, she'd figure that out after breakfast.

The pills hadn't worked. She sighed. She was just going to have to live. Shower. Breakfast. Life.


	40. Chapter 40

_**Thank you once again, lovely reviewers, followers and favouriters.**_

Once settled into a booth at the diner, Killian tried not to stare at his lover's younger self. The large glasses swamped her pretty face, she looked too pale and despite the night's sleep, still too tired. She looked like she had not entirely recovered from the birth, let alone the attempt to take her own life. This Emma had hit rock bottom, and yet he needed to recruit her into a war against a powerful sorcerer. More or less immediately.

The plan, in its essence, was simple: wake Emma up to magic ten years early; eliminate Merlin together; and return to his Emma, preferably long before his child was born. However, vagueness dominated the plan, and he had only sketchy ideas about how some parts would be enacted. Like this part, right here, where he had to convince a stroppy, heartbroken, grieving, unstable teenager that she was a warrior princess with living, loving parents, and that she was in love with him.

She barely looked at him once the food arrived. He had ordered a side of hash browns that he had no intention of eating because he knew his Swan, and not even the gut-busting pile of eggs, bacon and pancakes in front of her was going to satisfy her when she really had a hunger on. He slid the plate silently towards her, and it disappeared without a word of acknowledgement. Some things, he mused, never changed.

"So," he smiled warmly, earning him a look of barely concealed disdain between bites, "I suppose we should discuss how I'm going to return you to your family."

Emma's fork paused mid-pancake and she sat up slightly straighter. "No family to return to, and wherever I'm going, I'll go alone." She took a swig of orange juice.

"Here," he picked up a mug of hot chocolate and set it down before her. "Whipped cream and cinnamon."

She shot him a strange look, but accepted the drink. Killian could read Swan better than any language he had learned, and he saw the cracks. Her perception of reality was letting through the light from other realms, a bit more with every push. He gripped the table and readied himself. What was it she had said to him when she had roughly plunged his heart back into his chest? Like ripping off a bandaid…

"Emma Swan, you have a mother and a father and a whole extended family who love you very much." She froze across from him. "I must confess, I was not in that parking lot by accident; I had come looking for you." She dropped her fork. "I've come to bring you back to your family." She began gathering up her belongings and sliding out of the booth. He reached across the table to take her hand, but she pulled away with a squeal that drew a few stares. "Emma, please hear me out."

Eyes wide and heart racing, Emma slid to halt at the edge of the booth. "So, you are stalking me. You admit that."

"No, I saw you for the first time in your life just after you had taken the pills." There was a truth to that, she was 10 years younger than when he had first met her. "I didn't want to tell you all of this after what you have just been through, but time is pressing, and…"

"Time is pressing? What the fuck?" Emma hissed at him. "I have been an orphan for 18 years, but suddenly my birth parents need to see me immediately? After abandoning me as a newborn?"

Killian inhaled deeply and breathed out the next words almost too quickly for her to hear: "It's not just your parents. Your son needs you…"

Emma actually jumped with shock, then stood so abruptly that she bumped the table. Two plates and at the near-empty glass of orange juice shattered on the tile floor. "Do not follow me," she ordered, gathered her rucksack, and made for the door of the diner. Killian threw some cash onto the table and followed her anyway.

They made it to the parking lot of the Travelodge before Emma turned around. Her eyes were big with tears. "How dare you follow me and speak about my, my…" she couldn't quite finish her sentence, and her shock and sadness segued straight into rage. "How do you even know about him? Who the fuck are you?"

"Killian Jones," he answered, trying to move a step closer, "just like I told you."

"But who _are_ you?"

"Okay, this is going to sound insane," he put out both of his hands in a calming gesture, casually reaching to steady her. Something in Emma's eyes stopped him and he froze, hands still in the air. It was as though, just for a moment, he saw his Emma, a spark of recognition. She took two tentative steps towards him, then pulled his right hand in front of her face, turning it this way and that. She ran her fingers over his rings. Given that she had been avoiding looking his direction as much as possible up to that point, her sudden desire to touch him seemed suspicious. She seemed to consider something, and reject it. She was still holding his hand in hers like she was conducting a scientific enquiry.

"Well?" she prompted. "Who exactly are you?"

Killian gave it to her straight: "I'm your husband. Or rather, I will be just over 10 years from now."

Emma blinked rapidly. She let the silence draw out for a moment, the rural New Mexico morning cold and bright and shining a harsh light over the scene. "Right," she finally quipped. "Obviously." She hadn't run, however, or even let go of his hand, so he held out hope.

Evidence, Killian thought. "Emma, I am your husband. Use your superpower. Am I lying?"

Killian was taking a chance there – he had no idea if Emma had classified her lie-detecting abilities as a superpower at this young age. But she looked unsettled. Unsurprisingly, using his knowledge of her produced exactly the same reaction in teenage Emma as it did in the Emma he had rescued from New York.

"You really are a stalker…" she whispered, dropping his hand.

"How would stalking you help me to know that?" he batted back. "If you're going to deny the evidence in front of you, at least be logical about it."

"Logical?" she laughed bitterly. "You want me to believe you're some pirate from a dream…"

Killian held up a hand to stop her. "Pirate? What dream?" He tilted his head slightly and spoke very calmly. "What did you see in this dream?"

She waved her hand toward his. "Your rings. I saw them in a dream last night. There was a pirate ship, and you were there."

"The Jolly Roger," he whispered, and a little smile began to play at his lips. The magic of their love must be bleeding through into this realm, he thought. Emma's own unconscious was providing evidence.

The conscious Emma, however, scoffed. "This is insane. You are insane. It's not possible. I saw your rings, and it sparked some thought of pirates, and triggered the dream."

"What if I could describe something in the dream, some detail that I could only know if it was a memory rather than a dream? Okay… you were on my ship. She would have seemed very old to you, like something from another time. All wood, enormous sails. She's painted and always glorious, blue and yellow and white… Ummm… tell me what I should describe for you."

The sex, Emma couldn't help thinking, tell me what you did to make me feel like that. Out loud, she said, "The cabin… how do you enter, and what's there?"

"My quarters? You have to climb down a steep ladder. The bunk is off to the left, a table that serves as my desk directly in front. When you enter, you face the windows. I have a lot of maps and books… no electronics at all, of course, as we didn't have any."

Emma held up her hand to stop him. She had gone quite pale. "What were you wearing?"

Killian stepped closer and took her hand again. "My coat, most likely. Long, black leather." Emma pulled her hand away and gasped. "What did you feel, Emma?"

 _Satisfied. Safe. Adored._ "I felt happy. You were mine," she stumbled on her words. Honesty was the last thing he had expected of her, but he gave it straight back.

"I am yours, always," he nodded, no hint of smirk this time, and held her gaze. "Wherever, whenever you exist Emma, I am yours."

This, he thought, this right here is where she pushes him away and runs. But Killian had not reckoned on teenage Emma's vulnerability. Those near-impenetrable walls he had met had been built up over ten years. But this Emma was raw hurt, childish curiosity and open desperation for someone to love her. She stood in the parking lot, squinting against the sunlight and shifting from foot to foot, turning the evidence over in her mind.

Finally, she tilted her head at him to indicate the front door of the motel. "Let's go sit by the pool," she said, "and you're going to explain everything."

…

Emma agreed to let Killian pay for another night in the end. The story was long and complex, as he was forced to tell it without mentioning fairy tales or allegedly fictional characters. This had been the most difficult part for his Emma to accept, he remembered. She might be convinced by the existence of magic, or even by time travel, but Neverland, The Enchanted Forest, Snow White, Prince Charming, Captain Hook… no. So, he couldn't lie (she would notice) and he could not tell the truth (she'd reject it outright). So, Storybrooke became a modern, uncursed town and he became a sailor. Her parents – a schoolteacher and an animal control officer - had been attacked by a woman who wielded powerful magic and had forced them into abandoning her (he was careful to avoid trigger words like witch or evil).

She was curled up on a plastic chaise lounge by a murky winter pool, too cold to dip a toe in, even during the height of the sunny day. And by now the sun had long since sunk into the dusty distance. Emma had piled up one, then two, then finally a small stack of thin motel pool towels over her thin frame in an effort to keep warm, but despite being engrossed in Killian's somewhat skewed tale of their relationship, she was shivering.

"So the pirate ship, the way it looks like it's from another time…"

"You're seeing one of our incarnations."

Emma looked unconvinced. "Incarnations? Like past lives?"

"Something like that, yes." Killian tried to sound like the voice of logic and reason, not a pedlar of magic and fairy stories. He wordlessly removed his jacket and reached across the rickety metal and glass table that separated them to arrange it around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she smiled. The gesture was, rather sadly, amongst the nicest things anyone had done for her. He had now bought her dinner, breakfast, lunch and another dinner, on top of the cost of their rooms and, oh yes, saving her life. But this was to be expected, if any of his crazy story was true, because he was her husband. In practice, Emma had no idea how husbands were meant to behave; she had precious little first-hand experience with such beasts. Most of her foster parents had been single women, and the few husbands had been creepy, or strict and unapproachable. Certainly she had come across a few nice men, but in her experience, enough were untrustworthy that it was best to approach with caution.

"You now look both tired and cold, love. Do you want me to continue this story tomorrow morning?"

That, for example, that right there. Emma struggled to recall anyone at all in her past – up to and including Neal – who noticed her unvoiced discomfort, let along did anything to remedy it. This man told the most ridiculous tales, and she wasn't sure if she could believe a word of it, but he seemed so sincere ("He seemed so honest, officer. What a shock when he pulled out that gun and shot seven people dead in the lobby!") and concerned and she really, really wanted to believe that this man loved her. Some her, older maybe, but still her.

"So, we're married," she restated. He had already explained this – how they'd met, fell in love, how stubborn she had been. "You're not wearing a ring on that finger."

Killian raised his left hand for her perusal. "No, we haven't really gone down the traditional route with our marriage. To be honest, your parents still want to throw us a lavish wedding." He smiled at her, relaxed and a little shy. She smiled back at him without a trace of scepticism. Talk of her parents made her more nervous than his explanations of time travel or magic or marriage, so he dropped them into innocuous places in the conversation, trying to make them seem normal. "I think your father has visions of walking you down the aisle."

Her smile faltered a bit. She pulled his jacket around her shoulders and suppressed a shiver, while Killian suppressed the urge to pull her into his lap and let her lean her head on his shoulder until she warmed up. "And someone is trying to use magic to break us apart? And you need my help to stop him?"

He looked deeply into her eyes and answered solemnly, "Yes, that's why I've come here. Your future self is in danger, and we need to go back together, to save her." She didn't balk at this information, and it was the fourth or fifth time he'd said it. Maybe he should show her, throw all the evidence out there in hope of overwhelming any doubts. "You know, we haven't exchanged rings, but I did give you something, to celebrate our union." He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and felt for Emma's necklace, hesitated for a moment, then drew it out. The stones caught the muted moonlight and dim lamps in the bare motel courtyard. They concentrated the light and cast it back out into Emma's wide-open eyes. "May I?" he asked, standing and gesturing to her neck with the open chain.

Emma watched the light refract in the stones. She swept up her hair without a second thought, and he stepped behind her to fix the clasp over her spine. He managed the entire procedure without letting his fingers so much as brush against her skin. The clasp snapped closed, just as his Emma had assured him it would. The magic of their True Love transcended time and the necklace worked on any form of themselves, it seemed.

"It's beautiful," she stammered, running her fingertips over the intricate stones.

Killian sank onto the chaise beside her, but not so close as to touch her. "It's also magic," he explained cautiously.

She looked up abruptly, the distrust back in place. "How so?"

"Well, only the one you love can fix it into place, and only he – well, I in this case – can unclasp it."

Emma's eyebrows drew together in consternation. She reached back for the clasp but found it completely locked in place. "What have you done?" she asked, the anger and defence back in her voice.

"It's nothing dangerous," he laughed, and reached around the back of her neck to unhook the necklace. "See?" He dangled it in front of her with a pasted-on smile to cover his nerves. He closed the clasp again and let the necklace settle over her chest. "Go on, there's no trickery, try to get one of the women behind the reception desk to attempt it." Emma stood and strode into the lobby with determined steps. He could see her entire interaction with the two women at the desk. They tried to open the clasp, but of course they couldn't. Emma stormed back out into the chilly night and sat across from him in a plastic chair, staring hard into his eyes.

"Take this thing off," she demanded.

Killian lifted his hand to scratch behind his neck. "Aye, I can do that. But first I should explain that the clasp isn't its only magic. The stones can transport you, too." He watched her every muscle tense. He hadn't expected to arrive at this moment so quickly. He had expected to win her around somehow, but now he saw an opportunity to bypass all of her objections. Time was pressing – every moment his daughter was growing - and now he had the chance to jumpstart the process of convincing young Emma that everything he said was true.

"Transport me? What do you mean? Where to?"

He needed to tempt her closer for this to work. Killian laughed as genuinely as possible, praying her radar would not penetrate his attempts to persuade her over to his side. "You're facing the wrong way." Killian patted the spot on the chaise that she had vacated earlier. "I can point it out to you from here."

Killian could feel her tension, her disbelief. But as long as those stones stayed around her neck, he didn't need her to believe. Suspicions fully in place, Emma moved around the metal table to sit next to him. He held out his hand to her with his most winning smile, and nearly melted in relief when a slight stumble forced her to press her hand into his. His fingers closed deliberately lightly around hers as he pointed up to the night sky. "Right there," he whispered, drawing her just a little closer. Emma was curious enough not to resist. He used their joined hands to gesture to the brightest star in the sky. "Do you see that star almost directly overhead?"

Emma followed his gesture, and she found herself leaning into him almost against her will, all of her attention on the star. His fingers remained loosely tangled with her own, the gesture casual and unthreatening. "Now, I just need you to focus on the second one to the right…"

 _ **Listen, I could use some help if any of you are willing to give it. Can anyone come up with a better summary for this story? I've tried several and feel they've all been unsatisfactory. Any thoughts, I'd love to hear them. Also, I promise that this behemoth is segueing its way towards a conclusion. Honestly.**_


	41. Chapter 41

With all the tea that Mary Margaret had been pushing at her, Emma knew full well that her headaches weren't due to dehydration, as David kept insisting. The clashing memories caused physical pain as well as confusion and constant worry. Unlike with Killian, however, everyone pulled together to pamper Emma, and she never picked up a sword in a week-long rampage of jealous frustration. Instead, she had her mother administering head and neck rubs, Will hovering with plates of nutritious food, and Regina fretting over spells to lessen the impact.

She watched as her past self fell hard and fast for Killian's kindness and charm, only too willing to set aside her natural scepticism in the face of his persuasive smiles. She wasn't jealous, however. She understood perfectly. Even with a decade more wisdom, Emma had been unable to resist him. She wouldn't normally have credited her father's overprotective disapproval with having an impact on her actions, but then, once David had more or less accepted her burgeoning relationship with Killian, she'd been on her back after less than 24 hours alone with the pirate in the woods. Emma sighed as she was fed new memories of her younger self tempted into buying Killian's story.

So she alone wasn't surprised when he managed to lock the necklace in place in only a couple of days. Mac and David had settled in for a long wait, talking in hushed tones about where she might safely deliver the baby, making plans to move Emma back to Cath Harbour. She gritted her teeth and told herself that she'd have the baby in a field right here before she abandoned Killian. But then he pointed her teenage self towards the starry New Mexico sky, and disappeared with her.

Emma's memories went haywire. She felt everything that young Emma had ever known and believed being upended in a moment in the face of Neverland. When Henry had brought her to Storybrooke, she'd had weeks to come to terms with magic and fairy tales, and even then she did not fully accept it until she watched her kiss bring her son back to life. This teenaged and mentally unstable version of her had to readjust in just minutes, and she had to do it with only a pirate she had known for just 2 days for company.

Her new memories provided a brand new first encounter with Neverland, but this one wasn't overshadowed by existential fear for Henry. Teenaged Emma blinked into the humid, technicolour landscape and marvelled at the fairies and the water and the strange plants with their mystical powers. She held tight to Captain Hook and did everything he said without question; she knew nothing of Pan or the Dark One or the Lost Boys. She acquiesced to the Captain's superior knowledge. It set realtime Emma's teeth on edge, that dependence, and to top it all she felt a tiny bloom of Hook-like jealousy in her veins. Which was ridiculous – hadn't she told Hook himself that he was being ridiculous, jealous of his own self?

In none of her new memories, though, did Killian touch her younger self. He slept apart from her, sat apart from her, held his hands behind his back when he stood near her. Emma knew damn well that the man could never keep his hands to himself around her – always a hand at her back to guide her through a doorway, or brushing over her hair, or sliding along her breast whenever he thought he could get away with it. She warmed a bit inside: Killian would not take advantage of a teenager.

Even though Emma could feel quite strongly that teenage her was thinking of taking advantage of him.

…

"I really am Captain Hook. Have been for a couple hundred years," he insisted, encouraging the fire he had built to greater heights. A soft evening had descended and Killian had decided to let Emma rest before setting off in search of fairies tomorrow.

"You're missing an essential piece of equipment if you expect me to buy that," Emma shot back. She was shivering in front of the fire, despite the warm air. She looked him over critically, as though cataloguing every bit of him, every gesture.

Killian laughed. "Aye, true enough, lass," he waved his left arm in front of her, "no hook. My wife took care of that for me, you see."

Emma frowned and stared into the fire. "Your wife? You mean me?"

"Well, a future version of you. You're not her, not yet." Killian flexed the fingers of his left hand in the firelight, smiling at the memory.

"How did I do it? Get your hand back, I mean."

Killian stopped piling wood onto the fire and sat back on his heels, considering her question. "I don't know exactly. Magic, of course, but I like to think it had to do with our True Love, which we had even then, even if she'd never admit it. Damned stubborn you are in the future."

Emma had thought herself damned stubborn now. "What happens to me that makes me more stubborn than I already am?"

Killian looked straight into her eyes. "As far as I know, it's already happened. I think your reactions just… entrench." He shrugged it away with a grin.

"What exactly did you mean by magic? Do I have magic in the future?"

Killian laughed at that, lighthearted and happy. "Aye, lass, you've magic in the future, and you've magic now. That's why we're here."

Emma sighed in frustration. "I don't have magic. I'm really sorry. I want to help you, help myself I guess, but there is nothing magical about me. At all."

"Trust me, lass. You have magic. The most powerful of light magic. But we will go into all that tomorrow, after a rest and some food, aye?"

Emma stood up of a sudden and kicked the sole of her boot backward onto the log she'd been sitting on. It barely budged. "If I'd had fucking magic, _Captain_ , don't you think I'd have led a somewhat less suicidally depressing life? With parents and a steady home and a clean arrest record?" She paced around the fire twice. "Anyway, we're still a decade too early for your _wife_."

Killian sat still on one knee in front of the fire, not standing nor moving to tend it, wary of her reaction. "We're back in my time. Neverland's funny that way."

"How do you know we're in your time and not mine?"

"No crying," he pointed to the darkened sky, and she shot him a disgusted look. "No, I don't mean your crying. Night's fallen, but not a Lost Boy to be heard – the sound of their crying used to reverberate across the island, for those who could hear it. And you and I always could. This time is after we defeated Pan and carted the Lost Boys away to Storybrooke. Hopefully it also after my last run-in with the Fairy Queen, because that was not entirely pleasant, and the person who saved me is back with her mother in the Enchanted Forest."

"Fairies?" Emma slumped back onto the log, incredulou. "There is too much you're not telling me…"

"The tales that I haven't told you could fill a library. But there's only so much I can burden you with. You truly are going to have to trust me, Emma." He sat carefully on the log opposite her.

"Show me this magic, then. Explain to me what you want from me. I want to believe you."

"That would be proof. If you have proof, evidence, then you don't need trust. I want your trust," he held her gaze, unblinking. "I came back in time to save you. I love your future self far more than my own life, and you will simply have to trust me when I say that I have proved that time and again. I would give up everything in a moment to guarantee her happiness and that protection extends very much to the version of Emma sitting in front of me." He fell silent for a moment to let his words sink in. "So use that superpower, Emma. Am I lying to you?"

Emma sighed and turned back to the fire, holding out her hands to warm them. Killian allowed himself a small smile. She believed him, at least, and that was no small feat given how completely outrageous all of this must seem. He also knew that after he found the fairies, there would be no turning back for her.

…

Killian had finally closed his eyes, waiting deep into the night to make sure that Emma had finally slipped into sleep before he allowed himself to follow. So when he woke utterly confused and still exhausted only an hour later, his bad mood tumbled forth into the clearing at a low but clearly audible volume. The fairy he'd swatted to the side stayed hidden, frightened of his cursing and hissing.

"Just bloody show yourself; I'm awake now." He leaned over to check on Emma, still safely asleep on the other side of the low fire. Concerned that she not overhear his conversation, Killian rose quietly and padded softly past the first line of trees at the edge of the clearing. He saw the yellow fairy hovering over Emma, flitting from one vantage point to the other, taking her in. Killian whistled low to draw the fairy to him.

"Hook!" she gushed, buzzing around him twice before settling herself to her feet at full size in front of him. "What's wrong with Emma? Where's the baby? Where's her magic? She's all… wrong." The fairy bounced worriedly on her toes.

"My Emma is in the Enchanted Forest with her parents. Merlin sent me back in time, to this," he nodded to his sleeping companion, "version of her. That's Emma, but she's only 18, and until earlier today she had no idea magic existed. She's still sceptical and very, very fragile. I'm trying to break it all to her gently, but, you know, urgently." Killian paced, the fairy matching his every step. "I need you to convince her about magic, and, well I don't know… tell her how to use hers! Fix her."

"But she's from The Land Without Magic! I can't just make her a sorceress equal to Merlin. It's taken your Emma years to work on her magic, and she's still a bit unpredictable with it."

"But you can set her down that path. You can teach her just enough."

"Just enough to do what, Captain?"

"To get me in the door. Get me to Merlin, so that I can finish him."

…

Fairies. Emma had spent 3 days with fairies. Fluttering, glittering, shimmering, petal-wearing fairies, who sprinkled sparkly fairy dust onto things to make them float, or shine or spin. Emma herself could now make things float and shine and spin, with or without fairy dust to help. Emma herself had magic. At night, she would sit across the fire from Captain Hook, who watched her ceaselessly, worried and on edge. She would bury her face in her hands to try to hold her head together and gather the final scraps of her sanity around her.

Because… whoa. Her hands glowed white with magic. They moved objects without touching them. This could not be possible. Hook scratched his arm while carrying firewood, an inconsequential little nick, but when she saw the blood forming a line of tiny dots below the rolled-up cuff of his shirt, her hands began glowing. She couldn't stop herself from walking over to him, laying her hands on arms, and lifting them to find no sign of the cut. He grinned and thanked her sweetly but lightly, as though he expected this sort of treatment and found it commonplace.

Emma was freaked. At night, when she stared into the treetops above her into the unfamiliar constellations, she would begin to hyperventilate, the utter unreality of her current reality threatening to tear her apart. Hook would watch, and offer assurances and small kindnesses, and she knew damned well he didn't sleep, didn't dare. She worried, because he was strung taut as a sail about to snap in a gale, and if Captain Hook was nervous for her, she knew she needed to be nervous for herself. She just didn't know why.

So she spoke into the wakefulness. She asked him again why he had brought her to Neverland rather than home to his Emma.

"Because your stones brought us here. Emma had explained to me that during her trip into my past, my former self was still able to work the stones, even when I didn't know who she was. You and I are True Love and always have been and always will be. It doesn't matter if you don't know me. Also, because Merlin can't see us here."

"What? Merlin is spying on me?"

She could just make out Killian nodding in the firelight. "He can use mirrors, or any reflective surface, even a still puddle, to see us. But not in Neverland. There's a force field here that blocks his magic. He will suspect we've left your realm, but he won't be able to find us."

Emma smiled to herself. "Like shields on spaceships in Star Wars?"

"Umm, sure, like that." Killian was once again grateful to Henry for his crash course in modern culture. This girl in front of him was hardly older than Henry, he suddenly thought. Only a little younger than he was himself when he lost Liam.

Killian rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand studying Emma. "We need to go. Very soon. You are the key to finally destroying Merlin and the threat he poses to us."

"Me? I can't take on a wizard! I can't levitate a stick – I know because they made me try earlier today." Emma sat bolt upright in protest. "Why do you think I can help?"

Killian smirked. Emma was growing used to that expression on his face, only used when he knew beyond certainty that he was holding a winning card. "Because you have an invitation to Merlin's castle, but he's not expecting you."

Emma thought that over in the quiet night. Long after Killian had fallen asleep, lulled by rum and the warmth of the fire, she tried to imagine herself as the magical, powerful creature that he and the fairies kept telling her she was. A few short days ago, she had been at her weakest point, too tired and sad and full of regret to carry on breathing, and now she was expected to rush in wielding magic and save her own future. The prison, her baby… it all felt worlds away. She grinned to herself when she realized that the prison and all known police officers and crushing poverty and every fucked-up foster family and, most very importantly, Neal – all of them were – literally – worlds away.

Her hand drifted down to her stomach, flat again now and ghosted over her hips, ever so slightly wider now than before her pregnancy. She couldn't stay here, she thought with a start. She could not live in a world where her child was not. Even if she never saw him again, she somehow needed to be accessible to him, and he to her. Anything less really would be abandonment, and she felt guilty enough as it was. Guilty, she sighed. Even if it hadn't been true when they'd put her in prison, it certainly was now. She sighed more deeply. Even if Neal hadn't left her, even if he had been put away for his own crime, she had to face the fact that the baby was undoubtedly better off with whatever adoptive family had taken him in. If only she _knew_. If only she could be certain that her baby wouldn't suffer what she had.

Well, all the answers are right there, she thought to herself. You can wake him up and ask him. She had avoided the subject of her son, and Killian had never mentioned him again. She couldn't make up her mind if she wasn't strong enough to know, but she felt certain now that she was far too weak for _not_ knowing. Killian shifted in his sleep and left out a half-snore, hefting himself onto his side, his face now directly in her line of sight.

Emma found it far easier to soak in his beauty when he wasn't looking at her with those soulful blue eyes. She did not find it hard to imagine her older self falling for him. She had heard the girls she went to high school with talking about how this boy or that boy wasn't good enough for them, or more commonly, that their parents thought the boys weren't good enough. Emma had only ever been involved with Neal, but she didn't need anyone else to tell her that he hadn't been good enough for her. Sadly, she'd had no one to point this out when it mattered.

She lay on her side, considering Killian Jones. If she did have parents, what would they say about him? Good enough or not? She had no guarantee that her decision-making skills had improved over 10 years – maybe they were even worse. This man had an agenda, he was a self-confessed pirate and he had stolen her away to another world without asking her permission. Kidnapped her, really. Just because some parts of his mad story added up, that didn't mean…

"I'd say he's good enough."

Emma froze, and she felt as though her blood had turned to ice. Killian breathed on, unconscious and unaware, across the fire. She looked up to see a man in a sharp suit seated on the log behind her bedroll. He smiled benevolently towards her and held both hands up in what she took for a placating gesture. His cufflinks shone in the firelight, and she could make out his dark hair and blue eyes.

"I freely admit my bias, but if you're looking for a parental opinion on the matter, I can offer mine," he smiled, nodding in Killian's direction. "I'd say he's perfect for you. But then, I'm…"

"His father," Emma finished. The likeness was uncanny, the hair a bit greyer, the clothing entirely more Italian-expensive, but otherwise the same, down to the voice and the gestures.

Davy Jones nodded, delivered a warm, ingratiating smile and scooched a bit closer. "You know, your older self calls me Papa. So I sort of hoped we might forge a relationship of that sort. You seem rather in need of a parent right now, and yours are stuck a whole realm away, helping the other Emma."

Emma hunkered down on her bedroll cross-legged and pulled the blanket around her for protection. "'Papa' ain't gonna happen. And I don't like you reading my thoughts. Can he do that?" Emma thrust her chin in Killian's direction, refusing to let go of the blanket.

"No, and he would never indulge in a breach of your privacy like that," Jones soothed, his accent light and calm. "Killian is utterly devoted to your happiness and well-being."

"You would say so…"

"I would, but that makes it no less true. You have no faith in your own judgement." Jones stood, and reached out a hand for Emma to join him.

"I've got plenty of evidence that my judgement sucks," she retorted, slumping a bit more into her blanket.

Jones shrugged and put his hands on his hips, looking serious. "Lass, you made a bad call. So did he, once, and it cost him dear." Emma glanced over to him, sound asleep and peaceful and so, so beautiful. Jones allowed himself a triumphant little smile, but she caught it.

"Get out of my head," she waved him off and finally stood. "He's using me, and his pretty eyes won't help a damn bit once he gets what he wants and then waltzes off and leaves me alone."

"No, but mine will." Emma's eyes widened at that. "No, child, nothing like that. I am only here to assure you that when you go back - and you're right, you will have to - I will watch out for you. I cannot and will not influence your future, because if you hope to meet my son someday, you need to do pretty much exactly what you did before. But I can help you feel less lonely while you do it."

"What happens to me? He never talks about it."

"You will return to your world, to your life, just as you left it. You will remember nothing of this."

Emma felt tears crowding in behind her lashes. "So after all of this…" she swept her hand at the surrounding forest, "I take nothing back with me? I have magic! And parents!" And a hot husband, her mind supplemented.

Davy pulled her down next to him on the log, and before she knew it, she was on the receiving end of the sort of fatherly hug she had never thought life would provide her. "Emma, it's going to be a tough ten years. But at the end of it, you will have your son, you will have your parents and you will have Killian. Is that worth it? Are you willing to make a sacrifice now, to secure all of this in your future?"

Emma felt that she had nothing left to sacrifice, nothing left to trade for a better future. Her whole life had been one long disaster. She let out an anguished noise, but tried to smother it so that Killian wouldn't wake. "Don't worry about him," Davy reassured her. "I sent him far under. That man does not sleep like a proper human. He wakes if a twig snaps on a neighbouring island."

Emma giggled a bit, and Davy pressed his advantage. "Emma, it will be all right. I will check in on you, keep an eye on you. I promise." He sighed and hugged her gently, and she lowered her head onto his shoulder. "And I know you've had enough of men and their promises, but you are just going to have to trust us. We are your family now. We will keep you safe."

"I'm an idiot, because I do believe you. I just never learn…"

Davy gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You have learned to be suspicious, and rightly so."

"Um, how did you get here, anyway? And how can you promise to watch over me? Who are you?"

"Davy Jones, princess. The gatekeeper of hell. I can move between realms, and I can find you and protect you, no matter where you are."

Emma just blinked at him. People said the most outrageous things to her lately, and most of it true. So she just nodded at him and sat back down on her bedroll, where she had a clear view of the mythical pirate captain who claimed to be her lover, and his father, who had just popped in from Hell to introduce himself.

A soft thud and a sudden rustling in the trees beyond their clearing made Emma jump; Davy immediately pulled her into his chest and commanded her to stay close.

"Killian!" Davy snapped his fingers and his son blinked awake and was on his feet, sword in hand, faster than Emma could inhale a gasp.

"Da?" he blinked, eyes scanning across the tree line. He heard the shifting and shuffling in the forest beyond, then stood nearer Emma and his father. "Merlin?" he mouthed to Davy.

Davy shook his head. "He can't come here," he whispered. "But he could have sent someone else. He can't see into this realm, but he can send a scout to report back."

Killian and Davy exchanged a hard look, one that Emma couldn't read. She shifted her gaze between the two of them. "Is someone here to attack us?" she asked softly, her voice breaking a bit.

"Shhh, don't worry, princess," Davy pulled her closer. "We both promised your Da that we'd keep you safe, and we will."

"Princess?" Emma balked, a bit more loudly. "Just let me go and give me a sword if someone's out to kill us."

Killian grinned despite himself. "Emma, we're going to have to eliminate him. If he sees us, and returns to tell Merlin… we lose the element of surprise. Right now, Merlin knows he's lost track of us, but he's not sure where we are, or when we are." He gestured for her to stay put with this father, and disappeared into the trees, just wide of the source of the noise.

Killian could hear the clumsy rattling of Merlin's scout to his left. Please don't let it be a child he's sent, Killian murmured to himself as he followed the inexpert footsteps silently through the woods. Within 12 paces, he had a man in his sights - poorly dressed, just out of his teens – and Killian hardened himself to the task. If this man spotted them or heard them, he would immediately head back to Merlin by the same magical means he'd come here. Protect Emma, he thought, protect our child. The young man swung round, just catching sight of Killian and clutching a vial of dark dust in his grimy hand. Killian didn't stop to think or consider; he sunk his sword through the youth's neck, and snatched away the still-stoppered vial of magic before it could harm him or his future wife.

He sunk to the ground next to the body as it bled into the soft earth, and stowed the magic dust in his jacket pocket. He cast his eyes up at the treetops and the glimpses of stars, and he asked forgiveness, again. He listened carefully, and hunted the area for signs of intruders for another two hours, until he was certain that the young man had been sent alone.

By the time he broke the tree line into their little camp again, his father had Emma back under the heavy blanket of her bedroll and sleeping peacefully. He was seated next to her on the ground, his dark wool suit covered soaking in grass stains and dirt, and he was tenderly stroking her hair. Davy looked up as his son settled onto the log nearest Emma, then he smiled back down on her. "I swear by all the gods that this is the result of milk and a bedtime story," he said softly. "No magic and no drugging. She was knackered, poor thing."

Killian just nodded and handed the vial over to his father for inspection. "What was in it?"

Davy held the vial up to the firelight and even Killian could see a worm-like movement and almost breathless panting in the dark matter inside the tiny glass bottle. "You killed him?" Davy enquired almost conversationally.

"Aye. Now what the bloody hell is that stuff?"

"Yardrak. Nasty substance, and blessedly rare. Would have wiped her personality and her memories, left her open to being commanded by the sorcerer who created it." Davy lifted his other hand experimentally from Emma's hair, checking to see if her breathing remained steady and quiet. He rose to his feet. "I'll take this down with me and dispose of it properly. But you're out of time, son. He will soon figure out where you've gone, when this is the scout that doesn't return."

"She's not ready. She's not had enough time."

"She's ready enough. Use the stones to get you back to Emma, well, your Emma. She will need to kiss you to keep you alive. I don't know what he has planned to curse you with on the other side. What was it for her?"

"Drowning. She was out of the water, but drowning all the same."

"You will have happiness, Killian, and you will build a safe life for your children. I know it. But you need to end that godsforsaken bastard of a wizard first. Are you ready?"

Killian nodded sharply. Davy Jones swirled his hand through the air and a bright, ornate sword appeared in his hand. He grasped it by the blade and extended the hilt to Killian.

"Excalibur will kill him. You just need to be close and strike with certainty."

Sliding the sword into a scabbard on this belt, Killian held out his hand to his father. "Thank you. I'll tell her that you said goodbye." Ignoring the hand, Davy pushed into his son's space and embraced him. Killian was too shocked to move.

"I love you, son. Tell Emma that I love her, too." And with that, Davy Jones disappeared back to the shores of hell.


	42. Chapter 42

_**Well, this chapter was some time coming... apologies! Next one will be quicker. Yes, it will.**_

It wasn't drowning this time. It was freezing.

By the time he woke in the Enchanted Forest, his body temperature had plummeted far past the point of shivering, past even panic, his heartrate so slow that he could hardly struggle to blink. He could see his Emma, snuffling peacefully in her sleep, right next to him. Merlin had landed him on her snug bedroll and almost-but-not-quite against her warm body. Killian felt quite pacific so near her, his life slipping away in a numbing preserve of frost.

It was the younger Emma who saved him this time. She had magicked them back via the Eternal Spring stones around her neck, which meant that– absolutely critically – she did not have to kiss him. Because the way this emotionally injured teenager looked at Killian had him scared to death. His Emma loved him, True Love apparently, and she trusted him with her life, but she never looked at him as though he were The Solution descended to earth. His Emma had too much experience to ever look at another human being that way again.

But the teenager, who came to nearer Will than Emma, quickly woke the thief and half-screamed at him to help. Will stumbled over and roused Emma, and she threw herself at Killian, half-conscious, to kiss him back to life. The pain – released from death but not, immediately, from the cold – sank in the moment her lips left his. The shivering began then, and the panic – hers and Will's, now David's and Snow's and Regina's and Mac's. They piled on blankets and Emma pulled him close, toasty as one of those electric heaters back in Storybrooke, then Mac built up a fire and they moved him near it. Slowly the heat seeped in to the chill that ran deep through his bones.

He couldn't speak to introduce Emma the Younger, so he looked on silently as David and Snow drew her into an anguished embrace, and his own Emma looked on with a curious smile. Mainly though, she pressed warm kisses across his face and rubbed her hands over his arms and legs to jumpstart the bloodflow with her magic. Everyone moved quietly, not wanting to alert Merlin or his spies.

Finally he regained his speech. He reached a hand up to Emma's face and smiled at her. "Did you miss me, love?"

Before she could respond, he felt a sharp jab to his ribs, where Emma's bump was pressed into him. "Someone knows Daddy's home," she grinned, and kissed him again.

Killian dropped both hands and his face to the baby. "Hey, little love, I'm here. Did you even notice I was gone? Have you been letting your Mum rest?" He pressed a kiss to Emma's belly and felt another kick against his left hand.

"She noticed you were gone, but damn, babe, that was fast. I spent 3 weeks trying to convince Hook to let me go. I can't help feeling a little deficient in comparison." She sat cross-legged on the floor next him, stroking his hair as he regained his strength. Mac wandered over and nonchalantly handed Killian his flask. He grinned up at his cousin and raised his head enough to take a swig.

"You're more cooperative and pleasant than he ever could be," Mac commented.

Emma extended her hands to Mac, whose long experience of pregnant sisters-in-law meant that he knew without being asked that she was looking for counterbalance to get off the floor. "Mac, are the doors and windows sealed?"

"Yes, princess, and we have checked thrice for reflective surfaces. We can't keep his minions out forever, but we are fine for now."

Emma leaned into Mac. Killian could see the signs of exhaustion in her eyes even from his pile of blankets and pillows on the ground. Will crouched down next to him. "The Queen and her parents have kept her mostly to bed, to soothe the headaches and stress, but she hasn't slept well, not really, and she wouldn't let Regina put her under magically." He shook his head. "She's been eating, but not much as you'd like. It's been hard on 'er, though nowhere near as hard as it was on you when she was with Hook."

Killian watched his wife as Will updated him: she was thoughtful and calm. She laughed suddenly, watching her parents with her younger self. Killian pushed himself up on his elbows, then his hands, even while Will clucked against it and hissed at him to rest. He struggled to his feet, Will more or less holding him upright. He stumbled the two steps to Emma, working all the while on righting himself properly, and threw his arms around her with the small strength he had left.

"Killian! You should be resting, recovering," she chided, moving her arm around to support him.

"And ye should not be propping your sorry arse up on a pregnant lady," Will added crossly, moving to hold him up in what was becoming an awkward three way hug.

Emma laughed and gave Will a friendly shove. "The pregnant lady's fine. If you want a hug, Killian, I'll come to down to you, but Mac and Will are going to have to hoist me off the ground again later."

Killian shook his head, "No, I want to move around a bit. I think it'll help. And your neck is up here…" he added in a whisper. A whisper that Will still heard. He stepped back, causing Killian to buckle unsteadily under his own weight, and tilt slightly into Emma.

"I'll leave you to it," he huffed, and wandered over towards Snow, David and the alter-Emma.

Emma knew precisely what her husband was about, trying to distract her from his probing, exploratory hands by kissing her neck. He was worse that a set of digital scales, and she swore that he could divine her exact calorie count for the past few days just by skimming his hands over her ribs. As he was doing right now.

"Don't even say it, Killian. I have been eating, and I know I may have lost a pound or two, but…"

"Emma, you should not be losing any pounds. Quite the reverse," he said quietly, resting his left hand over the baby. "You are big with child and you should be getting bigger."

"I've read all about this, Killian. The baby takes all it needs, before my body gets a look in. She's fattening up nicely in there and, as you can see, my belly IS getting bigger."

Feeling more stable, he leaned away from her, enough to look her in the eyes. His hands slid down her sides and over her hips and thighs. "All of you should be getting bigger, Emma, because you should be eating plenty and sleeping plenty and not engaging in murderous feuds with power-crazed wizards. And I should have been here. I should have seen that attack coming."

Ducking beneath his shoulder support him, Emma harrumphed. "You do a good line in self-hating bullshit, don't you? Any of us might have seen it coming, but none of us did. Anyway, you're back, and you have brought my own self as back-up. What's she doing here?"

Killian stood up straighter, his legs feeling more certain beneath him now. "Love, you have to believe me, nothing has happened between…"

"You haven't wiped her memory, Killian. I remember what she remembers, and I know damn well you haven't touched her. Hook got farther," she admitted.

"He wasn't half your age. Nor nearly as fragile."

"She's a tiny fraction of your age, and so am I, even now. You're super old."

"You know what I mean, woman." Feeling almost back to normal, Killian pulled her in close and kissed her breathless, kissed her until she felt her arousal rising. "Am I too old for you, Emma?"

She giggled – he was still the only adult in any realm who could coax a giggle out of her – and drew him back for another kiss. From across the room, she could feel young Emma's eyes on them, uncertain and awestruck. "I guess I need to have a chat with… myself," Emma sighed. "Is the universe going to implode or anything if we talk?"

Killian shrugged. "I punched myself and we're all still here." He offered her his arm – he adored doing that, as Emma would still roll her eyes, just this almost imperceptible gesture of disarmed amazement that she was in a situation where men thought she needed assistance to walk from A to B, whenever he did it – and she slipped her hand across the inside of his elbow. He allowed himself a satisfied internal smile as he led her across the room.

While teenaged Emma catalogued every detail of her future self, Snow and David stood misty-eyed behind the daughter they finally meeting 10 years before they ever thought it possible.

"You're pregnant." The teenager's tone – flat and pragmatic – gave nothing away. Her guarded eyes flicked to Killian but rested mainly on Emma. Mainly on Emma's bump.

Temporarily stunned that Killian had not mentioned this, Emma paused. "Um. Yes. A bit over six months now. I know I'm bigger than I was with Henry at the same time, but..."

"Henry. My baby's called Henry? How do you know that? How did you find him?"

Regret washed Emma, wired as she was into the younger woman's memories. Henry had been sent back to the relative safety of the Jolly Roger weeks ago, where Killian's crew of relatives were watching over him. Gently, Mary Margaret took the young woman's hand and patted, but Emma sensed the futility of that. Elder Emma may have – mainly, usually – forgiven her abandonment, but this version of her had not. The teenager snatched her hand away and the walls went up.

"I don't want to know. It's better if I don't know. We need to plan our attack anyway, don't we? Should we start?"

Ever quick to respond to Emma's walls, Killian took a step away from his wife and reached for the defensive girl with half an apology and half an explanation already half-delivered, but her arms were wrapped tight around herself, her hands tucked where nobody could take them in theirs and offer pointless comfort. She stepped back from Killian as he moved forward, but the retreat backed her squarely into David's chest instead, and he instinctively wrapped his own arms around her, stopping her future husband in his tracks. David knew as well as anyone that his realtime daughter was safe as houses with the pirate, but this Emma needed his protection. Without a thought, David dropped his head down to her ear and whispered, "Don't worry, sweetheart, Daddy's got you."

Emma cracked open from the inside. She wondered if it was possible to actually feel your personality shatter like porcelain on a marble floor. She slid down on a heavy sob and would have hit the floor for true had David not tightened his hold on her. He was still murmuring to her, the cadence comforting and sincere, though she caught not a word after his first, devastating sentence. He led her away from the little group of strangers, from her older and more assured self, and settled her down on a soft pile of blankets and pillows in a dim distance of the warehouse. She closed her eyes to block it all out, for once actually wishing for the sanctuary of the Bug, but her father hunkered down next to her, seated at guard duty with one hand rubbing circles into her back. She tilted into him.

Assaulted by the memories even at a decade's remove, present Emma gripped hold of Killian. Her husband had tears in his eyes watching the scene: he had pushed to bring her here, pushed to save his own Emma and their baby and their future together, and this young girl had papered over her cracks to follow him, to be their saviour. And now here she sat, slumped against a dark wall, sobbing and hiccupping into her father's shirt. He should have taken things more slowly, given her a chance to recover before stealing her out of a hospital bed and away to Neverland. What had he been thinking?

Emma tugged Killian from his thoughts, leading him to a fire by Mac and Regina and Snow. Will handed him a warm mug of coffee and rum. Snow forced him into a chair and told him to listen up. This was the queen's voice, not be misunderstood or ignored: "Killian, stop it. You did the best you could. She needs David right now, and to be honest I think David needs her. You brought her right where she needed to be."

….

Eventually, sleep. Young Emma cried herself to sleep on David, with Mary Margaret finally allowed to snuggle down with them. Mac and Regina drew their bedrolls up to the fire, and Will dropped into a pile of blankets across the threshold of the main entrance. Killian and Emma tucked themselves into the shadows and whispered strategy long into the night. Killian explained his plan: to re-enter Merlin's castle with both Emmas and destroy him with Excalibur. Emma turned the heavy, ornate blade over in her hands.

"How will we keep her safe in there? He's like fighting a ghost, Killian. Inside that castle, he has power…"

"But he can't actually kill you, or her, or apparently me. If he could, he would simply have done that. He has tried everything to break our love, and he has failed. But he will simply keep trying. And Emma…" - he slipped a hand beneath her top and stroked her belly – "we will soon enough run out of time."

"There's plenty worse than death, and I'm sure that sick fuck can come up with something to torture us if we fail." Killian did not mention the foul magic that Merlin had sent after them in Neverland, which his father had assured him was one of the many options for 'worse than death'.

"Then we won't fail," he said with finality. "In the morning, we will explain the plan to Emma. We will have the element of surprise over Merlin for once."

…

Well before sunrise, Mac woke and took a turn around the warehouse. He satisfied himself that young Emma and her parents were well, then Regina and Will. He poked about in the shadows, nearly stumbling over a wide-awake Killian propped against a wall, Emma asleep in his lap. He crouched down near his cousin and gripped his shoulder.

"I've come to wake everyone, and here I find you not in need of my services," Mac rumbled quietly.

Smiling vaguely in admission, Killian shrugged. "Might be the last chance I have to hold them. I'd rather not waste it on sleep."

"Cousin, soon we'll back in Cath Harbour, celebrating our victory and, before long, the birth of your firstborn. I swear it."

Killian nodded silently. He waved Mac in the direction of David and Snow. "You wake them, Mac. I'll wake Emma."

…

Merlin could not hide from Emma's magic or from her knowledge of his castle with no entrances or exits. So he didn't try. When Emma materialised from the soft white smoke of her magic with the pirate, Merlin could not hold back a heady laugh.

"Now this is how it was supposed to be in the first place," he boomed, watching Emma reach Killian's hand. The couple shone so brightly that he almost had to look away, and when their fingers touched, the aura that surrounded them burned hot enough to raise the temperature of the room. He knew that most people could not sense the heat from them, but he took a step back to avoid scalding himself. Breaking them would cause a spectacular explosion, he assured himself.

"I always expected you to arrive together. It would have saved months of mucking about with time travel."

Positioning himself just in front of Emma, Killian assessed the wizard in front of him. He was too gleeful, too cocky. Killian had seen the type before, in endless sword fights and fist fights and tavern brawls. Merlin was beatable. Teenaged Emma was hidden nearby, and that advantage could well undo an overconfident adversary.

"So here we are then. Are you planning to kill me?" Killian goaded.

"Kill you?" Merlin huffed. "And send you down to your Dad, who will immediately send you straight back? No, I don't think so. I don't need you dead, just split apart from her."

Merlin stepped forward, something in hand that Emma couldn't identify, but when he threw it towards them, her pirate sank to his knees, then into an unconscious lump at her feet.

Emma dropped to her knees next to him, desperately feeling for the pulse at his neck. Before she lean forward to kiss him awake, she felt herself being hauled back to the marble wall by an unseen and unbreakable chain. Just enough distance to keep her from touching Killian, but she could see his chest rising and falling weakly with every breath.

Merlin crouched in front of her, crowding out her view. "He's not dead, princess. I've explained already: I need to break your love, and killing him won't work. So I'll try this instead: you can swallow this potion and join your pirate in his dreamworld. You will be together until the end of your natural lives, when these bodies can no longer support life. But I'm afraid your baby would not survive for long - you couldn't give birth, of course, lying unconscious next to your love. It would be a grim death for the baby, I fear, and inevitably for you." Merlin gave her an oily, triumphant smile. Emma felt her magic boiling beneath her skin, but it couldn't shatter her restraints.

"Or, you walk away. Go home to your parents. Give birth to your baby. Live," Merlin shrugged, magnanimous, "happily ever after."

Shuddering, Emma blinked tears away from her eyes. "That is not a test of true love. I would continue to love him, to mourn him. I will love him forever."

Merlin just continued to smile. "They all say that, princess. But time heals all... your love for him would fade, bit by bit, and then one day, not really all that far into the future, you would let go just enough. And I'll be free." Merlin rose to his feet and looked down on her with pity. "I have waited centuries already... a few more years won't hurt."

Emma stretched her fingers as far towards Killian as she could. He looked at peace, not in a place of fire and torture. "Give me the potion," she demanded coldly.

Merlin's face moved through shock and into anger. "How can you make that choice? You and your baby would die! What kind of mother would sacrifice her child for her lover?"

"Give me the potion," she repeated. "You had to offer me the choice, right? It has to be my choice to break our love and leave him here. So give me the potion."

"You will kill your unborn child! For him!"

"Give. Me. That. Potion."

Merlin whirled into a black wind and swept over her and through her. Emma sat on her heels and folded her hands over her lap and watched Killian's breathing to calm herself. She said nothing to give herself away. She cleared her mind of thoughts that Merlin might access. He rematerialised before her.

"Change your mind," he commanded, the marble walls shaking with his anger and volume.

"The potion," she replied, quiet and still.

They stared each other down for an endless moment, Merlin's rage blackening his eyes. Eventually, he relented, and handed her the bottle. Emma popped it open and swallowed it down without a word. She collapsed, her bindings shattered, but still too far from Killian to touch him.

...

Silent as the runaway she was, Emma waited patiently in the empty corridor. She listened for the soft sound of her older self sinking to the marble tiles, fast in a netherworld. She crept forward, enough to see Merlin crouched between the two bodies, his back to her, blind with rage. She hefted Excalibur from the scabbard at her waist.

On bare tiptoes, she gripped the heavy sword as she had seen Emma do, using both hands, and inelegantly arced it to point at Merlin's spine. She did not breathe, holding the air tight in her throat as she'd practised endless nights before, sneaking away from one foster family or another. She took a last look at Killian and Emma crumpled on the ground, then gathered her strength and rammed the point of the blade through roughly where the few biology classes she'd attended told her his heart would be. It sliced through the bone and cartilage and sinew and soft tissue as easily as scissors through wrapping paper, sinking in so far that she knew it had cut clean through. Anger rising along with panic, she twisted the blade in his chest to maximise the blood loss. Merlin gasped and tried to turn, impossible with the sword holding him in place. She drew the sword back to her, excavating as much of the sorcerer's chest cavity as she could. He managed to turn this time and look at her, too shocked even for the pain. As his eyes swept over her in bafflement, she steadied Excalibur again and drove it through his throat, taking him down to the floor, where she embedded the sword into the marble floor until the hilt rested against his broken neck. She knelt down next to him and watched the life flicker out of his eyes.

"You will not take this future from me," she whispered to his corpse. "I will have this love, even if I have to wait another decade for it."

Not entirely certain if dead-meant-dead with a sorcerer, Emma leapt to her feet and stepped gingerly across his body to reach Emma and Killian. She dropped to her knees beside Emma, her hands stilling over the baby, feeling for kicks and movement, but all was eerily still. She stood and circled them slowly, trying to recall anything and everything the fairies had told her about magic and curses. She came up blank. But she had been abandoned in front of enough Disney DVDs in her life that she knew what usually worked: a kiss. She blushed to the roots of her hair and all the way down her chest as she turned to Killian. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about him: she could see that he loved Emma and he had been kind and protective with her. The stones worked, just like he said they would, because somehow their love had always existed. That sounded ridiculous to her – if she were totally honest here, she'd admit that he intrigued her, and perhaps aroused her, but no way did she love him.

Faith, then. She had to believe, just like Neverland, and wishing upon a star and all the fairy tale crap she'd scoffed at since she was old enough to know what scoffing meant. So Emma closed her eyes, leaned forward to his lips and imagined what he meant to her future self, how quickly she had been ready to give up her life for him. That's me, she repeated to herself, that's me in just a few more years, and I love him. I love him, I love him, I love him…

"All right there, love. That's done the trick." Her eyes flew open in widest shock and she scrambled back. Killian was propped up of his elbows, one eyebrow cocked at an unseemly angle. "You kiss me any longer and future Emma here won't speak to me for a week. She still has access to your memories, you know." Killian lifted himself into a sitting position and surveyed the pool of blood spreading across the marble tiles under Merlin's body.

"Um… is he dead?" Emma asked, still nervous that Merlin could somehow come back.

Killian shot her a funny look. "Aye, that is the deadest person I have seen in quite some time, love, and I'm something of an expert in it." While Emma was focussed on the body, trying to figure out how she felt about murdering a man, Killian reached across and caught her bicep. He pulled her closer. "Emma, do not for a second question your decision. Promise me." Then he enfolded her in a warm hug, kissed the top of her head and whispered, "Thank you. Thank you so very, very profoundly."

Emma felt tears welling up in her eyes, but brushed them away. Giving her a last, encouraging smile, Killian leapt to his feet and jumped the distance to his own Emma. He spanned both hands across her bump.

"The baby hasn't been moving," Emma said softly.

With the same dreamy, confident smile on his face, Killian murmured, "Come now, sweetheart, time to wake up for your Da." He bent down and placed a kiss just below Emma's navel. Immediately he could feel a tiny hand or foot pressing into his outstretched fingers and the lightest tumbling movement. He heaved a deep sigh. "There's my good girl," he breathed.

Teenaged Emma let out the breath she had been holding with a small sob. "Oh thank god," she shuddered.

Killian left one hand resting atop his baby and move the other to brush Emma's hair from face. She looked pale and tired and heart-breakingly, perfectly beautiful. He toyed with a strand, winding it round his finger and leaned close to kiss his wife. "I love you so much, Swan," he said as he pressed his lips against hers. This time young Emma could feel the rush of magic in the air, blowing through her soul. She looked on as her future self threw her arms around Killian's neck and pulled him closer for a deeper kiss, and he worked a hand beneath her head and pressed his fingers into her hair to draw her nearer. The teenager smiled to herself and averted her eyes, shaking her head and unknowingly repeating the only word guaranteed to break Emma and Killian apart.

"Gross."


End file.
